A Splash of Color
by CyberKath
Summary: A few days before Christmas a little girl comes to the dojo to seek Duncan's help. Her step-father - an old Immortal friend of Duncan's has been killed. She wants Duncan to avenge his death. Duncan and Richie must also decide what to do about the child, w
1. A Splash of Color Chapter 1

The concept of the Highlander universe and the character of Duncan MacLeod were created by someone else. They belong to someone else. Actually, they belong to a bunch of people - Gregory Widen, Peter Davis, William Panzer, the folks at Gaumont, and those at Rysher Entertainment, as well. They do not belong to me, and I'm borrowing them without permission. Because Highlander-The Series is my favorite TV show, and because this story has been written out of love with no hope of monetary gain - I hope they'll forgive the transgression.

This story is mine as are characters of Dallas Delany, Sukhe Khan and various minor players - so please don't take them anywhere without letting me know. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I'd love to hear your comments. 

* * *

**A Splash of Color**

_Grey has a way of sneaking up on you,_ Duncan thought, as he stood by the window with his hands in his pockets. One day your life is filled with vibrant colors. They dance and sing and fill your heart with joy. But while you are distracted by the process of living, sometimes the colors seep away, and before you know it only the grey remains.

Black he could deal with. Black was a dragon that sunk its fangs in deep and gave you something to fight. A man couldn't do battle with grey. It was illusive, difficult to define - a wraith at the edge of the forest. 

He rolled a few loose coins and a bit of lint through his fingers as he watched dime-sized clumps of sodden snow dribble listlessly to the ground. The storm had dredged up grey clouds and a light grey mist. Together they washed all the color from the scene, like the rigors of Immortality had washed the color from his life. 

Below his window, two cars crept along the slushy street. The blare of a horn penetrated the glass when one driver honked at the slowpoke ahead of them. A fourth car rounded the corner, then skidded as its driver braked to avoid running into the tail end of the column. Duncan took a deep breath and shook his head at the antics. He let the pressure of the breath out slowly in a long exhale that felt very much like a sigh.

A snowfall - even a wet sloppy one - the week before Christmas, should have put him in a more festive mood. Should have added a spot of colorful joy to the muted palette that surrounded him. But even his favorite holiday couldn't defeat the grey. 

A faint squeak of rubber soles on the wood floor disturbed his reverie, but he didn't turn until the owner of the sneakers spoke. "Hey, Mac." The familiar voice drew his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder.

"Yeah, Rich, what do you want?"

"You got a visitor," Richie said, with a smirk of amusement. Apparently, he didn't sense the pervasive greyness of the day. His eyes twinkled as he stepped through the dojo office door, then he moved to one side and revealed a child. She stood behind him shifting her weight from one foot to the other. 

A pair of scuffed in-line skates swung from one hand, and in the other she clutched a hockey stick. Her yellow rain slicker pleaded for a good scrubbing, and the dark brown hair that dusted her shoulders desperately needed a trim. Fat snow flakes clung to shaggy bangs that fell from beneath a blue knit cap to cover her eyebrows, and she looked to be about nine or ten. Old tear tracks had left pale etchings in the dirt smudging her cheeks, yet she regarded Duncan with an insolent glare.

"You MacLeod?" she asked, lifting her chin to a defiant angle.

"Who wants to know?" he answered her question with one of his own. 

"Dallas Delaney," she said as though that should mean something to him.

He moved to the desk and slid one leg onto the corner. "And what can I do for you, Miss Delaney?"

Her shoulders lifted as she inhaled deeply, and she sucked the corner of her bottom lip into her mouth. "If you are really Duncan MacLeod," she said, sweeping a look of doubt over him. "You can help me find the guy who killed my father. He said if anything happened to him, I should go to Duncan MacLeod and--" 

She dropped the skates. They clattered as they hit the floor digging a small but noticeable nick in the highly polished oak. Duncan winced. She shrugged off her dingy red backpack, searched through the pockets for a moment, then pulled out a crumpled envelope. 

"Give him this," she finished. Her dark blue eyes flickered from side to side as she glanced around the office, then she stepped forward to hand him the envelope. 

Richie stood beside the doorway with his hands angled onto his hips. His eyes widened as she passed in front of him. "Hey, Mac, is she--" he began.

Duncan held his hand up to silence his young friend, as he met his inquiring gaze, then he nodded. He, too, sensed the faint, but definite pre-Immortal buzz that radiated from the girl. 

He didn't want Richie blurting it out. She was too young. She couldn't know. She shouldn't know. He leaned toward her as he reached to take the envelope from her hand, but suddenly she stepped back. Her eyes widened and her knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on the hockey stick. She stared at something on the wall behind him, and he turned to see what had caught her attention. 

It couldn't be the perfectly innocent black and white Harley Davidson poster, so it had to be the set of ancient katanas mounted in the rack next to the poster.

"Jake didn't tell me," she said. Clutching the envelope to her chest, she took another step back. "Y-you - you're one of us. You're like Jake ... like me." She spun on her heel, and raced for the door.

When she tried to run past him, Richie grabbed the hood of her coat. "Hey, what's your hurry, short stuff?" he asked, holding her shoulder as she squirmed.

She jerked free of his grip, dropped the hockey stick and the envelope, then pulled a short sword out from under her coat as she turned to face them. "Don't come any closer," she said. Moving into a fighting stance, she held the sword before her. 

Richie jumped back away from the point of her blade. "Whoa, chill," he said grinning.

Duncan swallowed the hearty laugh that rumbled up from deep within him. It took a great restraining effort to hold it in, but the child looked so fierce he couldn't help smiling at her bravado. He joined Richie at the door, taking care not to make any sudden moves that might startle her. "We won't hurt you," he said, keeping his voice gentle. 

"Jake told me never trust any of our kind," she said, holding her ground.

Duncan crouched down before her, but out of the range of her sword. No sense in taking foolish chances - he hadn't forgotten his run in with Kenny. He rested his forearms on his knees and kept his hands clearly in her sight. "But Jake also told you to find me, didn't he?"

She relaxed her stance a trifle as she considered his question. "Yeah ... but how do I know you're really Duncan MacLeod?"

She inched back, watching him intently as he stood to take out his wallet. He opened it to his driver's license, and held it out to her. She inspected it in silence for a moment, then she lowered her sword. 

"Is that enough proof?" he asked. 

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "I guess."

He crouched down to her level again, then picked up the envelope. With more than a hint of distrust in her eyes, she glanced over his shoulder at Richie.

"It's okay," Duncan said, quietly. "Richie's a friend. He won't hurt you either." He reached out to place a reassuring hand on her arm, but she edged away from him.

"Does he know," she whispered, suddenly concerned about revealing secrets.

Duncan smiled as he nodded. "He's one of us."

Dallas frowned, but she didn't comment. Duncan ripped the envelope open, then removed the two folded sheets of yellow-ruled paper. He blinked as he recognized the blue scrawl that covered the first page. 

**_Hey buddy,_** it began. **_Bad news ... If you're reading, this I'm dead._**

Duncan sighed. Leave to Jake Pendleton to come right to the point. His old friend had never mastered the art of diplomacy - except where the ladies were concerned.

**_The messenger who has delivered this letter to you is my daughter, Dallas - at least I hope she's the one delivering it. Unfortunately, she's not my flesh and blood daughter - as you well know - but she's the closest I'll ever come to having a child, MacLeod - so treat her right. She's one tough cookie, but she has the soul of an angel, and she's smart as a whip, too. _**

**_ I married her mother seven years ago - and stop snickering, MacLeod - yes, the great Casanova Pendleton finally settled down with one woman after 500 years of chasing skirts. You and Tessa were an inspiration, and I never hoped to find the same happiness. I did with Claire. She was a very special lady, but I lost her to an enemy far more dangerous than any we'll ever cross swords with - she died of cancer last year._**

**_ I was sorry to hear you lost Tessa, too - but I guess that means I don't have to explain the grief. At least, I had Dallas. I don't know how I would have made it through without her. She's a real trooper. Now the poor kid has no one, so I'm sending her to you because you're the only one of our kind I trust enough to look out for her._**

**_ You know what she is, and why I can't just let the mortal bureaucracy get a hold of her. She needs special care. I've done what I can. I told her what she is, and I've been teaching her how to fight with a sword. The rest is up to you. Do whatever you think is best for her._**

**_ Though I never did have your knack with money, I've done okay, so I set up a trust fund for her. The key with this letter is for a safe deposit box that has all the papers you'll need. Dallas knows which bank._**

**_So that's the whole of it, good buddy. Try and remember me now and then - we had some great times together, you and me. One last thing ... I know you're fond of that single malt poison you drink, but do me a favor - since I'm beyond imbibing at this point - have a nice tall frosty one for me and toss down a couple of shots of Jack Daniels to chase it._**

It was signed, simply - **_Jake._**

An oppressive lassitude seeped into Duncan as he folded the sheets, then slipped them back into the envelope. Another friend lost to the Game. He let the key fall into his hand, stared at it for a moment, then closed his fingers around the cold brass. He looked at the child. She was watching him with a mix of suspicion and hope in her eyes. _Now what?_ He stood.

"Bad news?" Richie asked.

"Yeah," he said, without turning. "Her father was a friend of mine - a very old friend. He's dead."

"I'm sorry," Richie said.

"Yeah," Duncan said without thinking. He couldn't think, yet he had to decide what to do about the child. First things, first. She looked tired and cold, and she was probably hungry. That he could handle.

"Have you had anything to eat?" he asked her.

She shook her head. 

"Well, come on upstairs. I'll fix you something, then we'll talk about what needs to be done."

He smiled as she tucked the sword under her coat with practiced ease, then he waited by the elevator while she retrieved her skates and the hockey stick. _At least, she'd had a good teacher,_ he thought with a sigh. 

"So are you going to help me find the guy who got Jake," she asked looking up at him with a spark of vengeance gleaming in her eyes. 

He looked away. The intense emotion was way too dark for one so young. "We'll talk about it after you eat," he said, resting his hand on her shoulder as he guided her into the elevator.

Richie pulled the gate down as he stepped in after them. "You've already had lunch," Duncan said.

"So is there a law against eating again?" Richie asked with a smirk.

"There ought to be," Duncan replied, shaking his head as he reached for the control.


	2. A Splash of Color Chapter 2

The concept of the Highlander universe and the character of Duncan MacLeod were created by someone else. They belong to someone else. Actually, they belong to a bunch of people - Gregory Widen, Peter Davis, William Panzer, the folks at Gaumont, and those at Rysher Entertainment, as well. They do not belong to me, and I'm borrowing them without permission. Because Highlander-The Series is my favorite TV show, and because this story has been written out of love with no hope of monetary gain - I hope they'll forgive the transgression.

This story is mine as are characters of Dallas Delany, Sukhe Khan and various minor players - so please don't take them anywhere without letting me know. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I'd love to hear your comments. 

* * *

**A Splash of Color** - Chapter 2

"What would you like to eat?" Duncan asked Dallas as he took the skates from her before she could drop them on his floor again. 

She angled the hockey stick to lean it against the high-backed leather chair, dropped the backpack next to it, then shrugged out of her coat. He reached out to help her, but she backed away. The distrust in her eyes had faded, but it hadn't disappeared completely. She placed the coat and her hat carefully on the chair. "I like hot dogs," she replied.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm out of hot dogs." Behind him, Richie snickered.

Dallas frowned a moment, then her face brightened. "Pizza!"

Duncan shook his head. "No pizza, either," he said, thinking about the contents of his refrigerator. What _did_ he have that would please a ten year-old's palate?

Richie stepped around him, and crouched in front of the girl. "Mac makes a mean grilled cheese," he said, tugging on the bottom of her teal blue sweat shirt. "You like grilled cheese?"

She nodded, glancing up at Duncan. "With tomatoes?" she asked. A smile played at the corner of her mouth. It was the first hint of a smile she'd shown since she'd arrived.

"I think that can be arranged," he answered.

"So what's with the shark?" Richie asked, pointing to the graphic that decorated the front of her shirt - a shark with a hockey stick clenched in its teeth.

She sighed as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "It's for the San Jose Sharks - my favorite hockey team."

Richie tilted his head toward the skates. "Is that a roller hockey team?" he asked. 

While Richie made conversation, Duncan checked the refrigerator hoping he had tomatoes, and wondering how ten year-old girls felt about whole wheat bread.

"Duh!" she said. "Not roller hockey ... _Ice_ hockey. Don't you know _anything?_"

Richie stood up. "I've led a sheltered life," he offered.

Duncan chuckled, softly, at his concise summary. "Why don't you go wash up, while I make lunch," he said. "The bathroom's back there."

Dallas glanced at the palms of her hands, wiped them on her jeans, then looked at them again. She shrugged. "Okay." 

She turned to walk away, then looked back over her shoulder at Richie. He held his hand poised to pick up her hockey stick. "Don't touch that," she cautioned. "It's very valuable. Bernie Nichols and Owen Nolan signed it for me when Jake took me down to watch them practice."

"Excuuuse me," Richie said, holding his hands out as he stepped away. After she'd shut the door behind her, he picked up the stick. 

"She told you not to touch that," Duncan reminded him.

"I won't break it," he said. He held it like a baseball bat and took a practice swing. 

Duncan set one of the sandwiches he'd made into the frying pan. The butter sizzled when it met the hot metal. "That doesn't look right," he said. "I think you're supposed to keep it down lower on the floor ... er, the ice."

"Like you're an expert," Richie said, resting the stick back against the chair. He stepped away, adjusted the angle, then joined Duncan at the island counter. "So what are you going to do with her?" he asked, before tucking a piece of cheese into his mouth.

"I don't know," Duncan answered. "She would be safest on holy ground until she's old enough to take care of herself. And since she knows about us whoever cares for her will need to know as well. Maybe Joe knows of an Immortal priest or a nun who's running a school or an orphanage."

"Ah, Mac," Richie said with a grimace of pain. "You can't do that!"

"Well, what do you suggest I do with her?"

"_You_ could take care of her. Since she already knows what she is, you could teach her like your friend was. It's probably what he had in mind when he sent her to you."

"I can't do that," Duncan said, wincing. The knife he was using to cut the tomato had slipped, slicing into his finger instead. He stuck the finger in his mouth and let the salty blood flow onto his tongue. The deep cut had already healed when he pulled it out a few seconds later. "And you have no idea what Jake had in mind."

"Well, I don't think he meant for you to pawn her off on a bunch of strangers."

"She's a little girl, Richie. She belongs with someone who can care for her properly, and I'm not that someone."

Richie got up from the stool he'd been perched on and walked over to the refrigerator. He pulled the door open. "If you don't want her, I'll take her," he murmured.

"Oh, and what are you going to do with her?" Duncan asked.

Richie set the gallon of milk he'd taken out of the refrigerator down on the counter with a loud thump. "I don't know, but I'll manage somehow. I can't let you stick her in a home. Been there, done that ... ya know what I mean?"

"Richie, she's a child, not a stray puppy. You don't know the first thing about raising a child, and neither do I. Maybe if she was a boy, I could manage, but a girl needs a mother."

"Your friend Jake seemed to manage okay."

Duncan placed the second sandwich in the pan. "Jake was married to her mother."

"Her mother? I thought Immortals don't have parents."

"We don't. Jake didn't go into detail. He just said he was married to her mother. I assume from his letter that she adopted Dallas before he met her."

"So where's her mother now?" Richie asked, as he stole another slice of cheese.

"She died a year ago." Duncan tried scowling, but it didn't work. Richie filched another piece.

"That means Jake's been raising her on his own. So why can't you?"

"Because I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

The sound of the bathroom door opening prevented him from commenting further. Not that he had anything further to say. Richie's question burned, but he didn't have an answer for it.

Dallas climbed onto the stool Richie had left vacant. She thumped her foot rhythmically against the side of the counter as she bent her elbow to rest on the top, then she set her chin in her palm.

"Want some milk?" Riche asked holding up the plastic container.

"I'd rather have a Coke," she said, shifting to clasp her hands before her. She continued to kick the counter, and the constant pounding set Duncan's teeth on edge. He willed her to stop, but it had no effect.

"I don't think Mac, has any soda," Richie said. He took a glass and filled it with milk, then he set it in front of her. "Milk is good for you."

"Jake lets me have chocolate syrup in my milk," she said, wrinkling her nose as she eyed the glass.

Richie grinned broadly as he glanced at Duncan. "I think Mac's fresh out of chocolate syrup, too," he said.

Sitting up straight, she pinned Duncan with a disapproving stare. "You need to go grocery shopping," she said. 

Duncan chuckled. _Guess that puts me in my place._ Recalling the broad range of food that filled his refrigerator, he turned to a shelf stacked high with cans and boxes - cans and boxes of the wrong kind of food. "I've got soup," he said. "Would you like some soup to go with your sandwich."

"Okay, as long as it's not any of that yucky stuff. Jake made soup with some really weird stuff in it."

"Does chicken noodle meet with your approval, mademoiselle?" He held the can of soup before her like a wine steward presenting a fine Bordeaux. She giggled in response, and he found the sound surprisingly delightful. She had also stopped kicking the counter much to his great relief. 

"Chicken noodle is good. I like noodles," she said.

"I'm so glad," Duncan replied. He placed the first sandwich on a plate, cut it in half, then set it in front of her. He spooned some soup into a bowl and popped it in the microwave.

"So do you live around here?" Richie asked, as he poured another glass of milk for himself.

Dallas shook her head. "San Francisco," she mumbled, as she chewed a bite of sandwich.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Richie scolded.

She washed the sandwich down with a gulp of milk and a grimace. "You asked me a question when my mouth was full," she replied.

Duncan smiled at the very parental tone in Richie's voice. "What do you expect when you ask someone a question while their mouth is full?"

"You're no help MacLeod. Can't you see, I'm trying to establish a little authority here?"

"Right," Duncan said, suppressing a strong-willed chuckle. 

He turned back to Dallas, who was busy spooning soup into her mouth. It was apparent, that neither of them had risen to authority figure status in her estimation. "So how did you get here from San Francisco?" he asked.

A trickle of soup crept from the corner of her mouth. She swept a glance over the counter. Anticipating her need, Duncan reached to grab a box of napkins from the shelf. Before he touched the box, she swabbed her mouth with her sleeve. He shook his head, then handed her a napkin. She wiped it over her, now clean mouth. Obviously, Jake had been so busy teaching her to fight with a sword that he didn't have time to teach her proper etiquette.

"I came on the train," she answered.

"By yourself?" Richie asked,

She nodded, then cast her eyes down at her bowl. "After my--" The soft thump of her sneaker hitting the island began again, and her shoulders lifted as she took a deep breath. "After my mother died ... Jake told me about how Immortals ... you know, how they fight and ... everything. He gave me a train ticket, and some money, and he told me how to get here ... if-if someone--" She took another deep breath, and glanced up at him. "You know," she said, her voice so low he could hardly hear her.

"Yes, I know," he said. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how to do it without alarming her. She was definitely skittish - not a surprise considering the circumstances. 

"Didn't the conductor or anyone at the station ask where your parents were?" he asked instead. He couldn't imagine how she'd managed to travel all the way from San Francisco by herself.

She shrugged. "I found another girl my age, and I talked to her. She was with her parents and her brother. I told her mother that my Dad had to make some phone calls and he told me to meet him on the train. She said men were ... irresponsible, but she took me on the train, so the conductor thought I was with them."

"That was pretty clever." Duncan chuckled at her ingenuity as he offered her the second sandwich. She had only eaten half of the first one, and she shook her head to decline. He held it out to Richie, and he didn't have to offer twice.

"Oh, I'm very smart," Dallas said, without a trace of humility. "I got all A's on my last report card."

"All A's?" Richie asked, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Come on ... only geeks and nerds get all A's."

"I'm not a geek! And one was an A minus," she retorted, as though the minus could save her from the geek label.

"Oh yeah?" Richie teased her. "What did you get the A minus in? I'll bet it was math."

"No," she said, with an indignant toss of her head. "I'm very good in math ... and computers - those are my favorite subjects. It was in American history."

"What's the matter with history?" Duncan asked. He had no idea why he found her problem with history appalling. Perhaps it was because history was his life. He smiled as the need to defend his position overwhelmed him.

"Booorring," Dallas answered, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "All those wars and presidents and dates to remember. Yuck."

"History is not all wars and dates," Duncan said. "History is about people and how they lived."

Richie laughed. "Maybe because you lived through it, but we didn't. I agree with Dallas - booorring!"

Duncan began to counter Richie's argument, but he noticed that the girl had stopped eating. She had her head down and her hands in her lap. "What's wrong, honey," he asked.

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, and she sniffled. "That's what Jake used to tell me. That history was really interesting. We used to argue about it all the time."

Duncan stepped around to her side taking care not to startle her. Gently, he lifted her chin with his hand. Her lip quivered as she pulled her head away from him, and he couldn't help noticing the tears that welled up in her eyes. She sniffled again and wiped the back of her hand over her eyes.

"It's my fault he's dead," she mumbled.

"Oh no," he said, wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened as he held her for a moment. He released her, then lifted her chin again, and wiped the tears from her cheeks with tender strokes of his thumb. How could he comfort her? Even though she knew about Immortals, she was way too young to understand it all. "You shouldn't think that - it wasn't your fault. It's just the way things are with us."

"No," she said, pulling away from him. "It _is_ my fault. Jake said Sukhe Khan was coming for him, and that we had to leave, but I made the all star team ... for the first time. We stayed for the game ... so I could play. We were going to leave right after. Jake went to get the car while I took off my skates, but the Khan must have been waiting for him outside the rink. I ... I s-saw the Quickening."

Duncan closed his eyes, feeling her fear, knowing, yet not knowing what that experience must have been like for her. "Did you see him--" he began to ask, but he couldn't finish the question.

She wiped her arm over her eyes. She didn't look up at him. "N-no. Jake told me that if I ever saw a Quickening to go to the church and wait for him. I waited all night, hiding from the priest so I didn't have to explain ... but he never came, and I knew he was dead."

She jumped off the stool and ran blindly across the room to the bathroom. Duncan followed her, but she shut the door. The lock clicked softly.

He leaned against the door. "Honey, it's not your fault," he said. "You can't blame yourself. Come on out."

With his ear pressed against the door, he could hear feet shuffling against the floor, and the faint sound of sobbing. "But he waited for me ... so I could play in the game," she said, at last.

The lock ticked again, and he opened the door slowly. She moved into the doorway with her back pressed against the frame. "We should have left," she said with a loud sniffle. "We should have left before the Khan found him."

He crouched down, then encircled her arms with his fingers and held them lightly. She didn't look at him, but she didn't struggle either. "Dallas, Jake was a grown man," he said. "A very old grown man with lots of experience in these matters. He knew the risks, and he took the chance that he would win the fight. _He_ made the decision to wait ... not you. When you make a decision, you face the consequences on your own. Do you understand that?"

She sniffled as she shrugged her shoulders, but he had no idea whether she understood - or whether she believed him. He slipped his arm around her and pulled her to his side. The tension in her shoulders eased, and he brushed her bangs back from her face. "Did Jake tell you what to do if I wasn't here?" he asked.

She nodded, then slipped out from under his arm. Crossing to the chair, she reached into her backpack, then pulled out a slip of paper. "He said if you weren't here, I was supposed to find this man." She handed him the paper.

He unfolded it and laughed as he read the name and address scribbled on the paper. "Joe Dawson? Did Jake know Joe Dawson?"

"I don't know," she answered. "He was my mother's friend."

"Mac," Richie chimed in. "Do you think her mother was a Wa-" He hesitated. "Er ... one of Joe's people."

"Could be," Duncan answered. He reached out to take her hand. "Did your mother have a tattoo on her wrist?"

"Uh-huh," she replied, nodding. "She said it was for a special club she belonged to."

Duncan glanced over her head, and he caught Richie's inquiring look. "I think I need to go see _our_ friend, Joe." He ruffled Dallas's silky hair with affection - still unwilling to admit she was stealing into his heart. 

"I have to go out for a little while," he told her. "Will you stay here with Richie until I get back?"

She glanced over her shoulder at Richie, then looked back at Duncan again. "I guess," she said. "Can I play with your computer?"

Horrible images of crashed hard drives and lost files filled his mind. "I don't think there's much on there that would interest you," he said, hoping to dissuade her, but he had nothing to offer in its place. Somehow he didn't think his chess set or the books that lined his shelves could compete with the lure of electronic wizardry.

"Do you have Windows 95?" she asked.

"Well, yes, I do ... but--" He realized with a sinking feeling that she was already miles ahead of him. She was just a child, yet this discussion had suddenly vanished like the White Rabbit down the hole. He couldn't think fast enough to catch up with her.

"Then you have Free Cell, and Minesweeper. I'm real good at Minesweeper."

"Uh, Mac," Richie said, walking over to join them with a broad smirk on his face. "You-ah, also have _Doom_."

"Cool! I love _Doom_," Dallas exclaimed. Her eyes sparkled with anticipated pleasure. "Bet I can whip your butt!"

Duncan groaned. "_Doom_? I don't remember anything called _Doom_." This whole conversation was slipping away from him fast, along with any semblance of authority he might have had.

"Yeah, you do," Richie insisted. "I bought it about a month ago, and since I don't have a computer ..."

"You put it on mine ..."

"By George, I think he's got it," Richie said, winking at Dallas. She grinned, as she nodded.

Duncan groaned again. They'd just met and already they were partners-in-crime. He was in serious trouble. "I think it's time for me to leave," he said. "Don't screw around with any of my files." He yanked his coat from the rack, then picked up his sword.

"You really should back up your files up every week," Dallas said, with the tone of a teacher scolding a recalcitrant student.

Duncan pulled the gate down on the elevator. "I'll try to remember that," he said, shaking his head.  



	3. A Splash of Color Chapter 3

The concept of the Highlander universe and the character of Duncan MacLeod were created by someone else. They belong to someone else. Actually, they belong to a bunch of people - Gregory Widen, Peter Davis, William Panzer, the folks at Gaumont, and those at Rysher Entertainment, as well. They do not belong to me, and I'm borrowing them without permission. Because Highlander-The Series is my favorite TV show, and because this story has been written out of love with no hope of monetary gain - I hope they'll forgive the transgression.

This story is mine as are characters of Dallas Delany, Sukhe Khan and various minor players - so please don't take them anywhere without letting me know. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I'd love to hear your comments. 

* * *

**A Splash of Color** - Chapter 3

The wave of noise from the happy hour crowd rolled through the double doors of _Joe's_ even before Duncan lifted his hand to push them open. He had come at a bad time, but it couldn't be helped.

Making his way across the room, he edged through the thicket of patrons celebrating the end of a work day. Behind the bar, the lone bartender worked his beat with the speedy, yet deliberate pace of an experienced hand. He was one of Joe's regulars, but Duncan couldn't remember his name. As he approached the bar, he swept a cursory glance around the room to locate Joe, but he came up empty. The owner was nowhere in sight.

A pretty blonde woman flashed him an alluring smile, then she nudged the man standing next to her to clear a slot at the crowded bar. Easing into the space, Duncan returned the woman's smile, but he ignored the venomous scowl that reddened the pale face of her companion. The man stretched his neck, straightened his shoulders, then adjusted his dark-rimmed glasses as he glared at this new rival for the woman's affection. 

A vivid image of a bull shaking its horns and stomping its feet surfaced in Duncan's mind, and he struggled to suppress the smile it triggered. Avoiding a puddle of condensation, he rested his elbow on the bar and held one finger up to summon the bartender.

"What'll ya have?" the man asked as he swabbed the puddle with a quick flash of a bar rag. A Watcher tattoo decorated his thick wrist.

"Single malt whiskey," Duncan replied automatically, then he remembered Jake's last request. "No, ah ... make that a Coors and a shot of Jack Daniels."

"Bottle or draft?" the bartender asked, as he snagged the bottle of Jack Daniels from the speed rack below him.

"Bottle," Duncan replied. Jake would have chosen the bottle. If he was going to do this, he may as well do it right.

The bartender spun a shot glass into place before him, and deftly filled it to the brim with amber liquid, then he turned to the cooler for the beer.

Duncan picked up the shot glass. He held it before him in a silent salute. _To you old friend - may you find peace wherever you are._ He downed the strong liquor in one swallow and it burned as it slid down his throat.

The bartender returned quickly. He slid a brown bottle across the polished surface of the bar. Duncan passed a ten dollar bill across in exchange. "Is Joe around?" he asked.

"He's around somewhere," the bartender replied.

"If you see him, would you tell him, Duncan MacLeod is looking for him?"

He smiled at the expression of consternation that crossed the bartender's face. The man apparently knew who he was, and obviously didn't approve of Watchers consorting with Immortals. _Too bad._

Duncan sipped his beer and watched as the bartender shrugged, trudged to the end of the bar, then disappeared around the corner. Despite any misgivings he may have had, the man clearly knew who paid his salary.

Waiting for the bartender to fetch Joe, Duncan amused himself by surreptitiously observing the drama being acted out next to him. The blonde woman continued her attempt to attract his attention by rubbing up against him, while her companion attempted to restore his place in her affections by loudly clearing his throat. He was fighting a losing battle. Duncan hoped the man wouldn't start any trouble: he was hardly in the mood for a confrontation. He had more than enough on his mind as it was.

"Hey, MacLeod," Joe's deep voice came from behind him. "You've been scarce, lately. What have you been up to?"

"Joe, you always know what I'm up to," he said, laughing softly.

"Yeah, I guess I do," Joe said with a grin. "Pete said you wanted to see me. What can I do for you?"

Duncan glanced around, then leaned closer to his friend. "Can we talk somewhere a little more private?"

"Sure. Come on into my office."

Duncan chuckled at the relieved expression that brightened the face of the blonde woman's companion, as he left to follow Joe.

"So what can I do for you, Mac?" Joe asked as he eased himself into the chair behind his desk.

Duncan picked up a couple of computer printouts from the only other chair, then sat on the opposite side of the desk. Joe took the printouts and tossed them on to a pile behind him, then he waited with his hands clasped in front of him.

Duncan settled into the chair, lifting one foot to place it on his other knee. He took a long swallow of his beer. _Where should he begin_?

"Have you ever heard of an Immortal by the name of Jake Pendleton?"

Joe smiled. "Yeah," he said. "As it happens he was married to a ... a friend of mine. Why?"

_Good recovery, Joe,_ Duncan thought. _But you're not getting off that easily._ "A Watcher friend?" he asked.

Joe looked down at his hands as he chuckled softly. "Yeah, a Watcher friend. Why do you ask?"

Duncan studied the silver foil label on the bottle in his hand. He lifted the corner of it with his fingernail. "Because he's dead," he said. He winced at the slight tremor in his voice and bit back the dark emotions pressing at his throat.

"Oh, no." Joe sat forward, then he ran his hand through his silver-flecked dark hair. "When?"

"A couple of days ago."

"Jake Pendleton was no slouch with a sword. Who got to him?"

"I'm not sure. I never heard of him. I thought you might know. His name is Sukhe Khan."

Joe frowned, then he scrubbed his hand over his face. "He's bad news, Mac. You're not thinking about going after him, are you?"

"I might. I haven't decided."

An oppressive choking silence swelled, then settled around them as both men drifted off into their own thoughts.

"Claire and Jake had a little girl," Joe said, quietly after a few seconds. "I wonder what happened to her."

Duncan took a long swallow of the beer. It didn't slake his thirst, and it couldn't wash down the knot in his throat. "She came to me this morning," he said. "She wants me to find Khan."

"Khan's not his name, Mac. It's a title."

Duncan lifted an eyebrow, as he stared at Joe. "A title?"

"Yeah," Joe answered. "He came from a Mongol tribe back just before Ghengis Khan came to power. He was a minor Khan in comparison, but a Khan just the same. He died his first death in a battle, and when he came back to life, I guess the people of his tribe figured he was some kind of spirit or maybe a god. He ruled for over a century." 

Joe lifted himself out of the chair and crossed the office to his computer. He slipped a disk into the drive, and pecked at a few keys. The file and a picture of Sukhe Khan flashed onto the monitor.

"He stayed in Mongolia until the early 1900's, then I guess with the revolution and all things got too uncomfortable for him. He's been traveling around Asia for the last 70 or 80 years trading in arms, drugs, information - whatever he can find a market for, I guess. Wherever he's traveled, he's left a trail of dead Immortals behind."

Duncan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Filling Dallas's request wasn't going to be a stroll in the park, and he wasn't sure he had the heart for it. Lately, all this senseless killing had become a heavier burden than usual. He shifted his shoulders to ease the weight, but it was futile. Spiritual millstones couldn't be manhandled as easily as physical ones.

"What are you going to do about her?"

Duncan shook his head, as he tried to grasp Joe's question. "Do about who?"

"Jake and Claire's little girl. Dallas, I think her name was. You said, she came to you."

"Yeah, she did. Jake told her to find me if anything happened to him."

"You? Why would he send her to you?"

"We were good friends," Duncan said, smiling. Now and then, it was nice to learn Joe didn't know everything. 

"Yeah ... so?" Joe lifted an eyebrow, and waited as though he knew there was more to the story than that.

Duncan laughed. Joe knew too damn much. "And also, because she's ah ... special." Let him figure it out from there.

Joe turned to look at him. "Special? What do you--" The light of knowledge flickered in Joe's eyes as they widened. "She's Immortal?" he asked.

Duncan laughed softly. "Not yet, but she will be. And I hope to keep it that way at least until she's old enough to deal with it."

"Wow," Joe said, hobbling back to his desk chair. "I had no idea. Claire never said."

"Maybe, she didn't know."

Joe laughed. "I know Claire - if Jake knew ... she knew."

"Was she watching Jake?"

"No. She was assigned to an Immortal by the name of Charles Ainsley. He runs a book store in San Francisco. He led a quiet life and pretty much stayed out of the Game, which suited Claire just fine. When she adopted Dallas, she wanted to settle down in one place. She never told me how she met Jake Pendleton, and I didn't know he was an Immortal until I met his Watcher a few years ago." 

Duncan turned the bottle slowly on the desk while he pondered the problems before him.

"So what are you going to do with her?" Joe asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Duncan shook his head. "I don't know. That's one of the reasons I came to see you. I thought maybe you might have some suggestions. Are there any Immortals who are involved with a boarding school or an orphanage where I could send her?"

Joe scratched his head as he thought. "I seem to remember an Immortal nun who runs a convent school in Switzerland. I'd have to check the files. Padre Santos has an orphanage in Mexico, but I don't think you want to send her there. The conditions are less than ideal, if you know what I mean."

"Mmm," Duncan said, nodding. "There aren't a lot of options are there?"

"Not if she's destined to be Immortal, there aren't. If she's killed in an accident or something at her age ..."

"She'll never survive," Duncan said, allowing himself the luxury of a sigh. He stood, and the action seemed to take all of his energy. "Do you have any idea where I might find this Khan?"

"Not at the moment, but I suppose I could find out. You are going after him, aren't you?"

"I don't know," he said, turning for the door.

"Hey, Mac," Joe called out to him as he clutched the knob. He glanced over his shoulder. 

"Mind your head."

"I always do, Joe," he said, feeling the weight of it press on his shoulders. "I always do. 


	4. A Splash of Color Chapter 4

The concept of the Highlander universe and the character of Duncan MacLeod were created by someone else. They belong to someone else. Actually, they belong to a bunch of people - Gregory Widen, Peter Davis, William Panzer, the folks at Gaumont, and those at Rysher Entertainment, as well. They do not belong to me, and I'm borrowing them without permission. Because Highlander-The Series is my favorite TV show, and because this story has been written out of love with no hope of monetary gain - I hope they'll forgive the transgression.

This story is mine as are characters of Dallas Delany, Sukhe Khan and various minor players - so please don't take them anywhere without letting me know. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I'd love to hear your comments. 

* * *

**A Splash of Color** - Chapter 4

"It's that one ... the tan and blue one. That's our house," Dallas said from the back seat as Duncan steered the rental car around the corner.

Tall narrow houses built shortly after the 1906 quake stood shoulder to shoulder along the steep hill. Decked out in pastel finery and snooty as society matrons at a debutante ball, they cast disdainful glances at the latecomers creeping up from the bottom of the hill. 

The one Dallas pointed out had a minuscule patch of yard surrounded by a white wrought iron fence. Stone steps led up to a small porch, and empty flower boxes trimmed the rail. Already the house had an air of abandonment about it.

Duncan maneuvered the car into a space that didn't leave much margin for error. Just before he switched the engine off, he remembered to angle the wheels in so the car wouldn't roll down the hill - not that it was going anywhere unless all the other cars moved as well.

"Oh look," Dallas shouted as she scrambled out of the backseat. "There's Mrs. Thompson. She's taking care of Murphy." She raced past Richie, knocking him back into the car door and treading on his foot in the process.

Richie grimaced in pain. "I think it's broken," he said, massaging the top of his sneaker-clad foot. 

Duncan chuckled as he edged between his car and the next. "You'll live. And remember, you're the one who wants to keep her." 

He clapped Richie on the back and pushed him toward the house where Dallas stood. She waved her arms as she talked to a plump woman with grey-flecked brown hair swirled into a bun at her nape. The woman looked up and peered over the tops of her glasses as they approached. Her eyes darkened with distrust, and Duncan hoped that the girl hadn't told her neighbor anything he couldn't explain.

Dallas glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide and sparkling with glee. "This is Mrs. Thompson," she said. "She's baking Christmas cookies, and she said I can have some. She makes the best cookies, and sometimes she lets me lick the bowl when she's done."

Mrs. Thompson smiled as she uncrossed her arms to chuck Dallas under the chin with her bent knuckle. "I think there's a bowl in my kitchen right now with your name on it, sweetheart," she said, but the smile vanished as she narrowed her eyes to stare at Duncan. "Mr. Pendleton said he and Dallas were going away for awhile." 

Duncan rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, then met her gaze. He hoped his prevarication skills were up to par, because she had to believe his explanation. "There's, ah ... been an accident," he began slowly, with a brief glance at Dallas. If she disputed anything he said, they were all in trouble. "Mr. Pendleton is dead."

The woman's eyes brimmed with tears, as she clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh, no," she mumbled from behind it. She crouched down and wrapped her arms around Dallas. "Oh, you poor baby, first your dear mama, and now your father, too." She hugged Dallas to her for a moment, then she kissed her head and wiped away the tears that slipped down the girl's cheek. Dallas sniffled, then rubbed the back of her hand over her face as she pulled away.

Mrs. Thompson leaned on her fence for support as she stood, but the wary glare she flashed at Duncan was anything but weak. "What happened?" she asked.

A story he had read in the paper popped up in his mind. "He and Dallas were on their way to see me," he said. "He stopped to change a flat tire, and a drunk driver ran into him. He was killed instantly."

The woman touched her forehead, breast and shoulders in a rapid cross, then rolled her eyes to gaze at the sky. "He was a good man, God rest his soul," she mumbled looking at Duncan with a little more sympathy, but it vanished in a moment. She shifted her gaze to rest briefly on Richie, then she stared at Duncan, again. "And who might you be?"

Duncan smiled as he held out his hand. "Duncan MacLeod," he said. Glancing at Dallas, he willed her to play along. "I'm Dallas's uncle." 

An expression he couldn't read flickered in the girl's eyes as she looked up at him, and a smile played at one corner of her mouth. She stepped closer to him, then took his other hand. "This is uncle Duncan," she said. She took Richie's hand, as well. "And my cousin, Richie."

Mrs. Thompson took Duncan's extended hand, but she held it tentatively as she swept a look of intense scrutiny over him. Her brow furrowed in a frown. "MacLeod," she said slowly. "Then you would be on her mother's side, I presume?"

"Ah, yes," Duncan replied, trying frantically to remember what Jake had said her mother's name was. _Claire!_ "Claire was my sister."

The leather sole of Mrs. Thompson's brown oxford tapped a slow beat on the sidewalk as she crossed her arms over her ample bosom. "Funny," she said. "Claire never mentioned a brother."

Duncan laughed, and he hoped it didn't sound as nervous to his inquisitor as it did to him. "We, ah ... had a falling out when we were young," he explained. "You know how families are. We hadn't spoken in years, but we patched things up just before she died."

She pursed her lips as she studied him for a moment. Thankful that he had 400 years practice at this sort of thing, he hoped his explanation would satisfy her. Lying was always exhausting, and he didn't know how much longer he could keep it up.

"Not much of a family resemblance," Mrs. Thompson observed.

Duncan groaned inwardly as he labored to come up with an additional explanation, but Dallas came to his rescue.

"Murphy!" she shouted, distracting the stalwart Mrs. Thompson. The girl stooped to scoop up an orange tabby cat that had just snaked around the corner of the house. The cat wriggled in her arms as she buried her face in its fur. 

She shifted the cat into a more secure position. "Did you miss me?" she asked. It purred loudly as it rubbed its nose against hers. 

"That cat," Mrs. Thompson said, shaking her head, "has been moping around my house, meowing pathetically since they left. She wouldn't even eat the nice creamed cod I fixed for her last night. I kept telling her they would be back, but I don't think she believed me."

Duncan reached out and scratched the cat behind the ear. It craned its neck and leaned into his hand. Mrs. Thompson gave him another narrow look, but then she smiled. "If Murphy thinks you're okay, then I guess you must be family," she said. "She doesn't like strangers."

Duncan resisted letting his breath out in a sigh of relief. He decided they'd better get while the getting was good. "We have a lot of things to take care of," he said. "And perhaps we should all get in out of the cold."

Mrs. Thompson pulled her plaid wool jacket closed as she nodded agreement. "It certainly has been unusually cold, hasn't it? You never can tell about the weather." She ruffled Dallas's hair and scratched the cat's chin. "You come by when you can, sweetie. I'll save a plate of cookies for you."

"Okay," Dallas said, nodding as she attended to the cat.

Duncan quickly herded Richie, the girl, and the cat toward the other house before Mrs. Thompson could remember her suspicions.  


"That was a close one," Richie said as he shut the door behind him.

Duncan shook his head as he laughed. "Yeah, I thought she was going to ask to see my birth certificate."

Dallas frowned as she set the cat down. "Mrs. Thompson is nice," she said in defense of her friend.

Murphy wove her supple body through Duncan's legs. She rubbed her head on his shins and left a trail of yellow fur on his black pants. He tried to nudge the cat away, but she seemed permanently attached to his legs. 

"I'm sure she is," he replied, then he crouched down to bring himself to Dallas's level. He took her hand. "You did a great job out there. Playing along when I told her that I was your uncle."

She glanced down at their hands, but she didn't pull away. "Jake told me that we can't let mortal people know about us. He said they don't understand." Her shoulders lifted as she sighed. When she looked up, her eyes glistened with tears that threatened to spill over. She sniffled, pulled her hand from his grasp, then her face brightened as she looked over his shoulder.

"Hey, Richie," she shouted, leaving Duncan with less hearing ability in his left ear. "Want to see my room? I've got a computer too, and a new CD player." She grasped Richie's hand and towed him toward the stairs.

"Whoa ... hold up, Shortstuff," he said, throwing Duncan a glance that clearly said _help me._ "Mac and I have to get the stuff out of the car."

"That's all right," he said, chuckling at Richie's obvious discomfort. "I can handle it. You two go on and have fun."

Richie rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and groaned, but he followed Dallas up the stairs.

Duncan returned to the car to retrieve their bags and the large manila envelope that held most of the contents of Jake's safe deposit box. He'd expected trouble with the bank, but to his surprise Jake had listed him as a co-owner. He'd also done an excellent job of forging Duncan's signature on the card.

Unwilling to get dragged into the game session Richie and Dallas seemed to be engaged in upstairs, Duncan set the bags on the floor in the hall. If the squeals of delight that frequently cut through the silence were any indication, Dallas was winning. He set the envelope on the dining room table, then wandered around the lower floor in an attempt to learn who Jake had become over the last decade or so. 

The house had been decorated with loving care in a warm country style that probably suited Claire, more than Jake. Amidst ruffled curtains and colorful braided rugs, there were small signs of neglect. Nothing serious, just little things a woman would fuss over, but most men would let slide. Thirsty plants with patches of withered leaves. Pillows that needed the lumps fluffed out. Dust caught in the corners of hand-crafted wall hangings.

He also found signs of a hurried departure. Breakfast dishes in the sink. A laundry basket with its contents strewn over the sides and onto the floor. A box of Christmas decorations in the corner - taken out of storage, but never hung. 

Duncan let a strand of silver garland slip through his fingers, then he picked up a clear glass ball with a sparkling gold decoration hanging inside it. He held it up to the light and let it twirl a moment, then he set it back in the box. He didn't know why such a common place object should add another weight to his heart, but it did. He tucked the envelope filled with papers under one arm, then set off in search of Jake's liquor cabinet.

It wasn't hard to find. The one thing Jake loved right after women and fast horses was a good smooth bourbon. The oak cabinet was well-stocked, and after moving a few bottles around, Duncan found what he was looking for - a dark green bottle of unblended Scotch whiskey. It was still sealed, and probably bought in the hope that they would drink it together someday. 

He poured a two-fingered measure into a glass, toasted his old friend, then sat down at a scarred roll top desk that just fit into an alcove off the kitchen. He dumped the contents of the envelope on the desk, then began to sort through it. 

For most of his 800 years, Jake had been somewhat of a drifter. He lived by his wits, a little counterfeiting now and then, and a very polished talent for running a con.

"It's not like stealing, Mac," he'd protested during one of their friendly arguments on the subject. "The marks give me their money willingly."

"They give it to you because they expect something in return."

Jake just laughed at that bit of logic. "They get something in return," he'd countered, "a very valuable lesson in the perils of greed, _and_ they learn not to trust strangers with their money."

After a few decades, Duncan gave up arguing with him. It wasn't worth losing a good friend over, and Jake made it a point of honor to swindle only those wealthy enough to afford losing his take. From the contents of the envelope, though, it looked like Jake had finally gone straight. The records indicated that he'd been buying and selling real estate. And apparently he'd been quite successful at it. 

Separating the papers and documents into two piles - one that would have to be dealt with immediately, and one that could wait - Duncan worked through the lot with measured efficiency. He was about to reach for the bottle to refill his glass, but the rapid thump of small sneakers echoing on the wood floor stopped him. 

He glanced up as Dallas barreled into the kitchen. She skirted the table with a deft maneuver, then stomped to a stop at his side. Her face was flushed and her bangs stuck up at odd angles from her forehead. She sucked in air using big gulps, and her shoulders lifted in rhythm with her labored breaths. 

"Richie said," she gasped, pushing her hair back from her forehead with a swipe of her hand. "He said ... to ask you ... when we're gonna eat dinner?"

Duncan smiled, as he reached out to comb her bangs back into place with his fingers. She pushed the hair back and stared at him expectantly. Dinner was the farthest thing from his mind. 

"Its after 6:30," Richie said, crossing his arms over his chest as he lounged against the door frame.

Duncan glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. "So it is," he said. "I didn't check to see if Jake left anything in the pantry. But I suppose we could go out to eat."

"I can tell you how to get to McDonald's," Dallas volunteered. "Or we could order pizza. The number's on the wall by the phone."

"I could go for a pizza," Richie said with a smirk. 

"That's not exactly what I'd call _dinner_," Duncan replied. 

Dallas pushed a chair over to the cabinets on the other side of the room, then climbed onto the counter. Pulling the door to one cabinet open, she reached in. She broke into a triumphant smile as she retrieved a can with a bright yellow label. "We can have _Spaghettios_!"

Duncan rubbed his hand over his forehead in an attempt to erase the pressure building there. He had no idea what _Spaghettios_ were, but he didn't even want to imagine what culinary delights might be found in that yellow-labeled can. A shudder shifted his shoulders, as he shifted his thoughts to a nice little seafood restaurant he remembered from a previous visit to the city. But judging by the expectant expressions both Dallas and Richie wore, he didn't think he could interest them in his dining choices either - and he was clearly out-numbered.

The trilling chime of the doorbell sent all thoughts of eating to the farthest corner of his mind. They certainly weren't expecting company. He met Richie's concerned look, but he didn't sense the presence of another Immortal. Just the same, he nodded at Richie's gestured suggestion that they needed their swords. While Richie left to get them, Duncan followed Dallas's gaze and went to answer the back door.

He flipped the light switch, and peered out before opening it. To his great relief, the face on the other side of the glass, was no sword-wielding Immortal - it was just Mrs. Thompson. He turned the lock, then opened the door.

"Mrs. Thompson," he said, stepping back. Though he dreaded another round of questioning, he invited her in.

"Oh, no, I couldn't," she said with a broad smile. "I just came to bring you this."

Between hands protected by crocheted pot holders, she held a large white ceramic dish covered with aluminum foil. Two other foil-wrapped dishes sat on top of it, and plate of Christmas cookies swathed in red plastic wrap crowned the pile. 

"I made pot roast for dinner tonight, and under the circumstances, I thought you could use a hot meal," she said, extending her hands to give Duncan her offering.

"Thank you," he said, smiling as he took the dishes from her, "but you shouldn't have." Clearly he had no choice. Mrs. Thompson's determined look told him she wouldn't take no for an answer. 

"You know," she said. "There's just Frank and me, now ... my boys have been out on their own for nearly 20 years, but I still can't get the hang of cooking for two. There were plenty of leftovers." 

She lifted one eyebrow and cast a knowing look over him as she shook her finger. "I know how you men are ... you forget a growing child needs regular meals. Mr. Pendleton was always busy with some project or another, and Dallas ate many a meal at my table." She tipped her head to look past him. "I didn't forget your cookies, dear," she said to Dallas, who moved up to join him.

Mrs. Thompson backed away from the door with one last piece of advice. "There are carrots and noodles in the other dishes. Just put them in the oven for a few minutes to heat it all up." She turned and waved. "Close that door you're letting all the heat out."

Duncan nudged the door shut with his foot, and turned to see Richie standing at the entrance to the kitchen with a sword in his hand. He wondered what Mrs. Thompson's reaction to that might have been, as he held up the dishes. "Mrs. Thompson to the rescue. Looks like dinner is served." 


	5. A Splash of Color Chapter 5

The concept of the Highlander universe and the character of Duncan MacLeod were created by someone else. They belong to someone else. Actually, they belong to a bunch of people - Gregory Widen, Peter Davis, William Panzer, the folks at Gaumont, and those at Rysher Entertainment, as well. They do not belong to me, and I'm borrowing them without permission. Because Highlander-The Series is my favorite TV show, and because this story has been written out of love with no hope of monetary gain - I hope they'll forgive the transgression.

This story is mine as are characters of Dallas Delany, Sukhe Khan and various minor players - so please don't take them anywhere without letting me know. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I'd love to hear your comments. 

* * *

**A Splash of Color** - Chapter 5

The rasp of metal on ceramic and an occasional thump drew Duncan back to reality. He wasn't sure where his mind had wandered, but it wasn't focused on dinner, that's for sure. He looked up from his half full plate to locate the source of the sound.

At the opposite end of the table, Richie piled more noodles on his plate using a large spoon like a front end loader, while Dallas sat drawing listless circles around a small mound of carrots with her fork. The harsh sound set his teeth on edge. 

"Why don't you eat those carrots instead of playing with them?" he asked.

Dallas let a long sigh escape, then she lifted one corner of her mouth into a grimace of disgust. "I don't really like carrots," she said.

"Carrots are good for you," Richie volunteered as he speared two more pieces of pot roast with his fork.

Duncan suppressed a smile and lifted an eyebrow. There wasn't the slightest indication that any carrot had made even a cameo appearance on Richie's plate.

"Then you eat them," Dallas said, pushing her plate in his direction.

Duncan struggled with the bubble of laughter that rose up in his throat. Watching Richie try to play the parent with a child, who clearly had his number, was the most fun he'd had in quite a while.

Richie molded his face into what may have passed for a stern look, if Duncan hadn't known better. "If you want any of those cookies," Richie said, wagging his finger. "You have to finish your carrots. Only members of the _Clean Plate Club_ get cookies."

The bubble of laughter erupted in a snort, and Duncan tried to wash it down with a mouthful of wine. "The _Clean Plate Club_?" he gasped when he had recovered enough breath to talk.

Richie straightened his shoulders, then pinned Duncan with a glare of frustration. "Yeah, you only get to be a member if you eat all your dinner. One of my foster mother's taught me that."

Dallas frowned. "What's a foster mother?" she asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject and the focus of Richie's attention.

"It's someone who's paid to take care of kids who don't have parents of their own."

Dallas tucked her head down, so Duncan could no longer see her face. "Like me?" she asked in a small voice.

"Now you've done it," Duncan mouthed across the length of the table.

Richie didn't meet his gaze as he stood. He crouched down beside Dallas and took her hand. "Hey, Shortstuff," he said, gently. "That's something we have in common."

Dallas lifted her head. "Did your mom die too?" she asked.

Richie tucked her hair behind her ear as he shook his head. "I never had a mother ... or a father."

"Well," Dallas said, slowly. "She wasn't my actual mother, you know. Jake said Immortals don't have parents like mortals, but he said adopted ones are better 'cause they pick you instead of getting stuck with you."

"I guess they are," Richie said, chuckling at her frank explanation, "but no one ever adopted me."

"Oh," she said, gazing at him with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity.

"Now why don't you finish those carrots," he said, as he stood. "Then we can _all_ have cookies."

"Okay," Dallas said, rolling her eyes. She picked up the fork, then shoveled the whole pile of carrots into her mouth without chewing them. Her cheeks bulged like those of a squirrel who's just dug up a nut stash. She guzzled three-quarters of a glass of milk, then swallowed the whole mess in one gulp. A milk mustache trimmed her upper lip as she grinned.

Duncan could do nothing but stare in amazement.

She slid off the chair, then bolted for the kitchen, but Richie snagged her arm as she rounded his chair. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked, nodding at her now empty plate.

She squirmed in his grasp for a moment, then let out a long sigh of exasperation, but she returned to her place and picked up her plate. Carrying it to the kitchen, she edged just out of Richie's reach. "Happy, now?" she asked, her voice ripe with sarcasm.

"Very," he replied with a grin.

She returned to the dining room a few minutes later, bearing the plate of cookies with a regal air. Remembering her manners, she stopped in front of Richie and held the plate out to offer him first choice. He took two, then she turned to walk down to Duncan's end of the table. She eyed the food remaining on his plate and shook her head. "No cookies for you," she said. "You didn't finish your dinner."

"I'm not very hungry," he said.

"No dessert until you finish your dinner," she scolded, then she set the plate on the table beyond Duncan's reach. 

As she took a cookie for herself, she glanced to the corner. Still smiling at the lecture he had just received, Duncan turned to see what had caught her interest. He watched as she walked slowly over to the box of Christmas ornaments. She stood before it, while she nibbled on her cookie. He opened his mouth to tell her she was dropping crumbs on the carpet, but downward slope of her shoulders stopped him. She sighed.

"We were going to get a real tree this year," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

She stooped down and picked up an ornament - the clear crystal one with the dangling gold spangle in the center. She held it up to the light as he had done earlier, then she tucked the last bit of cookie into her mouth and tapped the ornament with one finger. Mesmerized by the swaying spangle, her eyes glazed as she stared at it. 

"Mommy said real trees made too much of a mess, so we always had a fake one. But Jake said we could get a real one this year." She lowered the ornament and set it back in the box, giving it a loving pat before she withdrew her hand. 

When she sniffled, Duncan reached out to hug her, but she backed away. "Last year ... me and Jake--" she said, dipping her head. He could no longer see her face, but the quaver in her voice tore at his heart. "We just ... didn't ... feel like having a tree."

Her last words dropped into the silence like a stone into a deep well. Without reaching for her, Duncan opened his arms. He motioned to her with a wag of his fingers. "Come here," he said, softly. She stepped into his arms and rested her head on his chest.

Her shoulders trembled as he ran his hands over her back in soothing circles. She sighed, then was still.

"Hey, Mac ... we could," Richie said, his voice loud against the faint ticking of the grandfather clock that stood in the corner.

_No ... they couldn't. It was too much to ask._ Duncan kissed the top of Dallas's head, then he pulled her into his lap. "No, Richie," he said. "We can't."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Yes, I do," he insisted. "We're only going to be here long enough to take care of the details. We don't have time."

"But Mac ... Christmas is only a few days away. How much time could it take?"

"We'll talk about it later," he said, deliberately taking care to enunciate each word.

Dallas slid off his lap, then headed for the plate of cookies again. Richie glared at him, for a moment, then he stood. Looking down at Dallas, he grinned.

"Hey, Shortstuff ... why don't you and I go see if we can find Carmen Miranda."

Dallas shook her head and she flashed a quick glance at Duncan that clearly said, _See what I have to put up with_! "It's Carmen Sandiego, silly," she said, with a sigh. "And I'm not short ... I'm just not grown yet."

Richie chuckled as he squeezed her shoulder. "That doesn't sound nearly as catchy as Shortstuff," he said, pushing her before him as they left Duncan alone with his gloomy thoughts and his half eaten dinner. 


	6. A Splash of Color Chapter 6

The concept of the Highlander universe and the character of Duncan MacLeod were created by someone else. They belong to someone else. Actually, they belong to a bunch of people - Gregory Widen, Peter Davis, William Panzer, the folks at Gaumont, and those at Rysher Entertainment, as well. They do not belong to me, and I'm borrowing them without permission. Because Highlander-The Series is my favorite TV show, and because this story has been written out of love with no hope of monetary gain - I hope they'll forgive the transgression.

This story is mine as are characters of Dallas Delany, Sukhe Khan and various minor players - so please don't take them anywhere without letting me know. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I'd love to hear your comments. 

* * *

**A Splash of Color** - Chapter 6

Duncan felt like he'd spent the night in a clothes dryer as he descended the stairs the next morning. He yawned and shook his head in an attempt to break the strong grip of fatigue, but he failed. He'd thought he would be the first one up, but the laughter that bubbled from the direction of the kitchen told him otherwise.

He stood in the doorway for a moment and smiled as he watched Richie try to flip a pancake under Dallas's watchful directions. Kneeling on a chair pulled up to the stove she giggled, as the pancake slipped from the spatula to land in the frying pan - a sad lump of batter.

"That's not the way you do it," she said. "Here, watch me."

Her attempt landed face up in the pan - a little lopsided, but much more pancake-like than Richie's. Glancing up, she noticed they had an audience. "Hi Mac," she said, breaking into a broad grin. "We're making pancakes."

"So I see," he said. The tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee drew him straight to the pot.

"Check this out," Richie said, shaking a red and white box under his nose. "It's all in here ... you only have to add water, and tada ... pancakes."

"Fascinating," Duncan replied. He ducked around Richie, then reached for the coffee carafe and filled a mug to the brim. Inhaling the fragrant steam, he leaned back against the counter to watch more of the Dallas Delaney cooking class. 

He let the heat seep into his fingers for a moment, then - despite the scalding temperature - he took a long swallow. At least Richie made good strong coffee. "I've got some things to take care of today," he said. "Can I trust you two to stay out of trouble while I'm gone?"

The brief look Richie and Dallas exchanged oozed conspiracy and triggered an inner alarm. They were planning something - no doubt about it. Without a word, Dallas climbed down from the chair, then carried two plates into the dining room. Richie turned back to the stove. "Sure, no problem," he said, scraping the spatula over the bottom of the pan.

Only the faint rasp of metal on metal broke the static silence that crackled around him. Had one of them been listening on the extension when he spoke to Joe Dawson late last night? Did they know that Joe told him Sukhe Khan was still around ... and hunting for Dallas? Would they try to go after him on their own? His concern slipped into overdrive.

"What's going on, Richie?" he asked after a few moments.

Richie glanced over his shoulder, but he didn't meet Duncan's direct gaze. He shrugged, as he turned away again. "Nothing," he mumbled. "So what are you going to do today?"

Hoping that Richie might disclose the plot he and Dallas were hatching, he didn't answer right away. 

Richie crossed the kitchen to set the pan in the sink. "Relax, Mac," he said, grinning as he punched Duncan lightly in the arm. "We'll be fine. Dallas promised to teach me how to play hockey. So what did you say you were doing?"

"Nothing as exciting as learning how to play hockey," he said, laughing. He hoped that was all they planned to do, but somehow he doubted it. "I have to meet with Jake's lawyer to get some of this paperwork squared away."

Richie's face reflected his low opinion of lawyers. "That ought to be fun. Do you think Jake told him about us?"

"Actually, from the gist of some of the letters Jake left, I think he's one of us."

"Mr. Stevens?" Dallas asked from the doorway.

Duncan nodded.

"He's an Immortal," she said.

"How do you know?" Duncan asked.

She shrugged. "Jake told me. They were friends. Sometimes he went to hockey games with us."

"Well, that ought to make things easier," Duncan said. He rinsed the empty mug and set it in the drain, then he took a step closer to Richie. He stared into the younger man's eyes, and pointed his finger for emphasis. "Stay out of trouble," he repeated. "I'll be back this afternoon."

Duncan whistled a few bars of _Deck the Halls_ as he climbed the hill. Some other driver had taken the nice convenient spot in front of Jake's house, and he'd had to park a block away, but the meeting with Jake's lawyer had gone better than he'd expected. 

The stores surrounding the building where Alan Stevens rented office space had sparkled with colorful lights and other glittery Christmas decorations. The festive atmosphere and the lawyer's jovial manner had brightened his mood. He'd even stopped to buy a wreath. 

The fragrant circle of pine boughs decked with a red bow was a poor substitute for a tree with all the trimmings, but maybe it would help ease some of the pain he knew Dallas was feeling - even though she hid it well most of the time.

As he opened the door, the silence of an empty house greeted him, and a flicker of apprehension chilled him. "Richie?" he called out. No answer. He sensed no other Immortals as he set the wreath on the table in the hall. Wherever Richie and Dallas were, they weren't in the house.

Alert for any alien sounds or sensations, he walked quietly to the living room door. He stopped and frowned as he noticed a shadow that hadn't been there yesterday. He touched the hilt of his sword out of habit as he stepped into the room.

The pale gold light of a winter afternoon filtered through the lace curtains that hung on the broad bay window. Blocked by the mass of a seven-foot Douglas fur, the light projected the dark shape of the tree across the patterned carpet. A tree - where there had been no tree this morning.

He shook his head and chuckled. "Looks like Santa's helpers have been very busy," he said to the tree, then he started to shrug out of his coat, but a very loud thwack from the back of the house made him freeze. "What the--"

He slipped the coat back on, as he raced through the dining room to the kitchen. Shouts, raucous laughter and the hint of an Immortal buzz emanated from the small paved yard at the back of the house. He pulled the door open, then stepped outside.

As he did, Richie whirled around to face the house. In his hands he held a hockey stick, instead of a sword. "Oh, it's only you, Mac," he said, with a relief-filled chuckle.

Steady on her skates, Dallas glided past him. With a quick flick of her own stick, she tucked the puck into the net behind Richie. "She shoots ... she scores!" she shouted, as she raised her arms above her head.

"Hey ... that's cheating," Richie said, as he bent to retrieve the puck. "That goal doesn't count. Mac distracted me."

"You're on _D_ - you're not supposed to be distracted. You should have called _time-out_. The goal counts!" She spun around to coast backward on her skates. "The score's five-two - my favor. Hi Mac," she added with a quick wave of her hand.

"You have skates and I don't. You should have spotted me a couple of goals."

Dallas skated up to Richie, and stopped with her hands perched on her hips. "Well, you're bigger than me, so that makes us even."

"Oh yeah, well you know how to play, and I'm just a rookie."

Duncan slipped two fingers into his mouth, then whistled as loudly as he could. "Time out," he said, forming a _T _with his hands. "Can't you two play without arguing?" He could barely control an irresistible chuckle.

"She cheats," Richie said, grinning as he pushed on the front of Dallas's helmet so it flattened her bangs against her forehead.

"Do not," she mumbled.

"Okay, enough," Duncan scolded. "Now, who can tell me how that tree got in the living room?"

"Tree? What tree?" Richie asked, glancing at Dallas. "Did you see a tree, Shortstuff?"

Duncan glared at the conspirators. "The tree in the living room. About 7 foot tall, branches, needles - vaguely resembling a Christmas tree."

Richie scratched his chin as he shook his head. "Can't remember any tree fitting that description."

"Maybe ... the tree fairy brought it," Dallas volunteered.

Richie poked her with his elbow. "Shhh ... we didn't see any tree, remember?" 

"Uh-huh," Duncan said. "Why don't I believe you?"

"Your suspicious nature, I guess. I swear ... we've been out here playing hockey all day."

Though he found it hard to muster up a righteous anger, Duncan stood glaring at the two of them for a moment, then he threw his hands in the air. "When you're ready to tell me about it, I'll be in the house," he said.

He took a deep breath as he shook off his coat. What could he do? This wasn't at all what he planned, but Dallas's smile was so bright. She fairly shimmered with enthusiasm over Richie's plot to suck him into a holiday whirl against his better judgment. How could he tell her she had to leave the tree behind? How could he tell her that she had to run from Sukhe Khan again?

Behind him, the door opened, then clicked softly as Richie shut it. "Mac ... I--" he began. 

"Richie, I told you we wouldn't be here long enough to celebrate Christmas."

"But, Mac ... If you could have seen her face," he said. "I mean ... what has she got? She lost her mother. She lost Jake. Can you tell her she has to lose Christmas too?"

He closed his eyes as he drew in a deep breath. No, he couldn't. But that wasn't going to make their other problem go away.

"I talked to Joe Dawson last night," he said. "He told me that the Khan is still here ... and he's hunting for Dallas."

"Why? She's just a kid, Mac. And she's not even Immortal, yet."

Duncan shook his head. "I don't know Rich. Maybe he figures she'll hold a grudge and he may as well eliminate the threat now. Maybe, it's like Joe said - he's just a ruthless killer who'll do anything he thinks is necessary so he can win the prize. All I know is, I've got to keep her safe."

Before Richie could comment, the door opened, and Dallas came in, carrying her skates and her stick. She glanced from Richie to Duncan, and a frown of concern rumpled her brow.

"So what do you think?" Richie asked. He swung the hockey stick, barely missing the cabinet door. "I'd say I have a new career ahead of me. I'm gonna try out for a hockey team. Do you think I have a shot?"

Dallas lifted one eyebrow as she stared in disbelief, then she grinned. "Don't quit your day job," she quipped, then she bolted from the room.

"Why you little--" Richie chased after her. Their feet clumped through the rooms, then up the stairs. 


	7. A Splash of Color Chapter 7

The concept of the Highlander universe and the character of Duncan MacLeod were created by someone else. They belong to someone else. Actually, they belong to a bunch of people - Gregory Widen, Peter Davis, William Panzer, the folks at Gaumont, and those at Rysher Entertainment, as well. They do not belong to me, and I'm borrowing them without permission. Because Highlander-The Series is my favorite TV show, and because this story has been written out of love with no hope of monetary gain - I hope they'll forgive the transgression.

This story is mine as are characters of Dallas Delany, Sukhe Khan and various minor players - so please don't take them anywhere without letting me know. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I'd love to hear your comments. 

* * *

**A Splash of Color** - Chapter 7

Duncan breathed deeply, let his breath out with a whisper of impatience, then he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He'd read the same page three times. It was useless. He couldn't concentrate on Dickens with all the laughter and bickering going on four feet from where he sat.

He'd found the book - a first edition of _A Christmas Carol_ - in Jake's tiny library at the top of the stairs. Hoping it might boast his lagging Christmas spirit, he decided to read it, but Dickens was simply too morose, even if the tale did have a happy ending. He closed the book and set it aside with care.

"If you two are going to argue about decorating that tree, you're missing the whole point of the season. You know - _peace on earth_ ... _good will to men_," he said.

"Well, you could give us a hand," Richie said, trying to untangle himself from a strand of mini lights that had wrapped itself around his leg like a hungry python.

Duncan sighed as he stood, then walked over to the tree. "I don't know how much help, I'll be," he said. "The last time I put lights on a Christmas tree, you had to light them with a match."

Richie chuckled. "It wasn't _that_ long ago ... you and Tessa had a tree. And as I remember, _you_ did the lights."

Memories swarmed around Duncan as he crouched down to pick up another snarled light set. "You're right," he said. The memories coiled around his heart. "We did have a tree."

"Who's Tessa," Dallas asked, her eyes growing wide with curiosity.

"A very special lady," Richie answered.

"Where is she?"

"She - ah ... died," Richie said. Tiny glass bulbs clicked together in the ensuing silence as he shook a knot of wire and lights.

At Richie's side, Dallas held a glass lion with an orange yarn mane. She spun the ornament around on its golden thread hook, then she looked up at Richie. Her eyes brimmed with questions. Richie tipped his head toward Duncan. He tensed, waiting for questions he didn't feel up to answering.

"Was she your wife?" Dallas asked, quietly, moving to stand before him.

"No," Duncan said. He tried to concentrate on the lights, but his eyes kept losing their focus. After all this time, talking about Tessa shouldn't rattle him, but it still did.

"She and Mac were going to get married." Richie provided the information, he could not.

Dallas knelt before him. "You miss her?"

He curved the corners of his mouth into some semblance of a smile for her benefit, then he nodded. "Yes," he said. "I do."

Dallas leaned in to wrap her arms around his neck. He held her for a moment, feeling her pain mingle with his own. The sensation was comforting in a strange way. Still holding her, he eased her aside, then looked at Richie. His young friend stood with his head bowed as he busied his hands with the lights.

"You know," Duncan said, with a small sigh. "You're supposed to put those on first."

"See, I told you that," Dallas said. She slipped out from the crook of his arm to set her hands on her hips. "But you didn't listen."

"Oh yeah, and I suppose you know everything?" Richie responded. He tossed the lights to the floor with a flick of his hands.

"Yeah," Dallas said, holding her chin at an angle that gave her an air of superiority. "Jake told me. He told me lots of stuff."

Richie threw his hands in the air. "I give up."

Duncan couldn't stop himself. He chuckled at the mask of pure frustration on Richie's face, and the heavy weight that had pressed on his heart crumbled, then it dropped away.

The grandfather clock in the dining room chimed ten times as Duncan lifted Dallas so she could place the angel on the top of the tree. _Ten o'clock, already_? The last two hours had simply flowed past him in a stream of laughter, and the joy of a task completed in good company.

As the last ringing notes faded away, the slam of a car door drew his attention to the street just outside the window. A taxi - its telltale light glowing in the darkness - sped away, as a shadowy figure darted to the porch. Duncan let Dallas slide through his arms, then set her down gently on the floor. He reached over to pull the curtain aside, and the swelling vibration of another Immortal surrounded him. Cold concern crept along his spine.

A quick glance at Richie's frown confirmed that he had sensed it as well. "Take her in the kitchen," Duncan said. He shoved Dallas toward Richie, then moved to retrieve his sword from the table near the entrance. "You can get out by the back door if you have to."

"Is it--" Dallas began. Her eyes widened with fear.

"It'll be all right, sweetheart," Duncan said. "Go with Richie."

Like a prowling panther, he moved into the hall, then the chime of the door bell jangled his concentration. He tightened his grip on the sword hilt and centered himself as stepped closer to the door. He tugged it open.

Wrapped in a dark hooded coat, the Immortal on the porch stood facing the street. Duncan ran his tongue over parched lips. "Can I help you?" he asked.

The coat flew out in a circle as the other Immortal whirled around, then the hood slipped back. Duncan's jaw dropped as he recognized the wicked smile and the spark glittering in those dark eyes.

"Well, hello MacLeod," she said in a throaty whisper. One eyebrow twitched into a suggestive arch. "Is that a sword in your pocket or are you glad to see me?"

Duncan lowered his sword, then he laughed - a hearty laugh that frothed up from deep within him and shook his shoulders. "Stealing lines from Mae West, now, Amanda?" he asked, stepping aside to let her in.

"Only the best ones," she said. Cupping his chin in a firm, but affectionate grip, she puckered her lips to send him an air kiss, then she sashayed past him. "Only the best."

"I thought you went to Paris. What are you doing here? And how did you find me?" He fired the questions in quick succession.

Her hips swayed enticingly as she closed in on him. She rested one hand on his chest, then circled the neck of his sweater with the index finger of the other. Her dark polished nail left tingling trails where it brushed his neck.

She made a deep throaty sound, that was kin to a cat's purr. "Now is that a proper greeting for someone who's come thousands of miles, crossed an ocean, and a whole continent ... just to spend the holidays with her favorite Immortal?"

The heel of her shoe hit the floor with a thump, as she slipped it off, then rubbed her foot up his calf. She leaned into him, and he looped his arm around her, then she kissed him. The warm wet pressure of her kiss and the heat of passion whirled around him like a summer squall, then she pulled away. "Joe Dawson told me where to find you," she said, ducking her head and fluttering her long lashes.

Duncan chuckled, then he nudged her back to claim another kiss. "Good ole Joe," he mumbled against her lips, but a brief flicker of motion snagged his attention. He glanced over her shoulder to find Richie and Dallas watching them from the doorway.

"It's safe to come out now, I take it," Richie said with a lecherous smirk.

At his side, Dallas stared, her eyes wide with wonder.

"Amanda," Duncan said, guiding her across the room with his hand at her waist. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

"This is my good friend, Amanda," he said.

Dallas's eyebrows shot together in a frown of distrust and suspicion.

"Friend?" Amanda hissed in his ear.

He ignored her. "Amanda, this is Dallas Delaney. She's Jake Pendleton's adopted daughter."

Amanda held her hand out, but Dallas tucked hers behind her back, as she stared at the floor. "Oh," Amanda said, dragging the syllable out, then she touched the girl's shoulder. "Joe told me about Jake. I was sorry to hear--" She left the sentiment unfinished as she backed away.

"I met him a long time ago, and I always liked him." Turning to Duncan, she smiled. "But then I've always had a weakness for men with a little larceny in their hearts."

"I've noticed," Duncan said, pulling her in for a hug. "So what does that say about me?"

"Well, every girl has to have at least one knight in shining armor," she answered. She drew a small circle on his chest with her finger, then she tapped the center. "You're mine."

"Oh, brother," Dallas said with a grimace of disgust. She took Richie by the hand and towed him back into the room. "Let's go finish the tree," she said. "We still have to put the little village underneath."

"I don't she likes me," Amanda whispered in Duncan's ear, then she followed Richie and Dallas into the living room.

Stopping just inside the doorway, she glanced around the room. "Well, isn't this cozy," she said. "It's not quite you, MacLeod, but somehow it suits you, anyway."

"It's not quite me, because it's not my house," he said, as he helped her out of her coat. "And don't get too comfortable because we're not staying very long."

Amanda smiled at him - a smile that said she was just indulging him, because she knew him better than he knew himself - then she patted him on the arm. "I left my bags out on the porch," she said, and the smile took on a beguiling curve. "Would you be a dear and get them for me?"

Duncan laughed softly as he turned to do her bidding. He didn't know how she did it, but she always managed to make him feel young and lighthearted. Even when she landed him in deep trouble - as she so often did - it was difficult to resist her charm. She had an uncanny sense for knowing when he needed her the most, and those were the times she materialized like a genie summoned from a bottle.

When he returned with the two suitcases - at least they weren't trunks - she had already joined Richie and Dallas on the floor. He supposed he should warn her that sitting on the floor in a skirt as short as the one she wore left nothing to the imagination. But after he set the suitcases down, he slipped his hands into his pockets and simply enjoyed the view.

"This little shop would look perfect over there next to the train station," she said, tilting her head to study the small ceramic building she held before her.

Dallas snatched it out of her hand, then ducked under the tree to set it next to a similar shop with a sign that read _Apothecary_ over the window. "It goes over here, not there," she said with more than a trace of annoyance in her voice.

Amanda picked up a Victorian-style house, then reached under the tree to set it next to another house. "I'll bet this one goes here," she said.

Dallas pushed her hand away, then moved the house an inch to the left. "No, it goes there," she insisted.

"Amanda's only trying to help," Duncan said, kneeling down between them. "And you're being very rude."

Dallas curled her lower lip into a pout. "Well, she's putting them in the wrong place."

"I ... ah, think I'll go look for that box of trains," Richie said, standing suddenly. "In the attic, right?"

"At the top of the stairs," Dallas mumbled from under the tree as she rearranged the houses and shops mere centimeters from where they had been before.

Amanda leaned closer to him, and she placed her hand in a tantalizing position on his upper thigh. "I think she's jealous," she whispered.

He remembered that they weren't alone, and he stood before she could do anything indelicate with her hand. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, then he walked over to the liquor cabinet.

Amanda followed him. She slipped her arms around his waist as he poured a generous measure of cognac into two snifters. Taking care not to break her embrace, he turned to hand her one of the glasses.

"She's definitely jealous," Amanda whispered before she took a sip.

"Amanda, she's ten years old."

Amanda smiled, and her eyes twinkled with a lascivious light. "Would you like to know what I was doing when I was ten years old?"

"Er ... not right now," he said, grinning back at her. Knowing her as he did, he could well imagine, but Dallas was not Amanda and this was the end of the 20th century, not the middle of the 9th. He bent his head to nuzzle her neck. "But maybe you can tell me, later," he mumbled.

She laughed, then whirled away from him. He sighed and followed her as she went to sit on the sofa. Sitting next to her, he draped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer. She snuggled against him in response.

"Mission accomplished," Richie announced from the doorway.

Duncan turned away from his study of the flames that licked hungrily at the logs in the fireplace to watch Richie stride into the room. In his arms, he carried a large brown cardboard box.

"Mac, you should see these trains," Richie said, setting the box on the floor by the tree. "They're the old big Lionel trains with the triple tracks. One of my foster fathers was a train freak and he had a set, but he wouldn't let any of us kids touch them."

Duncan glanced over at the dusty engine Richie held up as an example of the treasures to be found in the box, but he was too comfortable to get up to investigate them. Amanda was far more intriguing than a box of toy trains at the moment. She had slipped a warm hand under his sweater, and she teased the waistband of his jeans with her finger. He knew he should stop her, but he had lost all trace of willpower.

Dallas stood halfway between the tree and the sofa, she stared at Amanda with narrowed eyes, then she glanced back at Richie. Clearly indecisive, she took a step toward the lure of Richie and the trains, then she turned and walked over to the sofa.

She stood before Duncan, hesitating for a moment, then she placed her hands on his knees and rested her weight on them. "Can you help us do the trains?" she asked.

Amanda's hand slipped away as he leaned forward. "I think it's way past your bedtime, young lady," he said. "We can set up the trains tomorrow."

"But you said we could watch _The Christmas Vacation_ movie," she said, pouting as she wedged herself between his body and the arm of the sofa.

"That was three hours ago," he said, "but you wanted to decorate the tree, remember? It's nearly 11 o'clock, and way past time for you to be in bed."

"But I'm not even tired," she insisted.

"That's beside the point," he said, giving her a nudge. "Now go to bed, like a good little girl."

She perched on the edge of the cushion, resisting the gentle pressure of his hand on her back.

"I'm not a little girl - I'm ten and a quarter," she replied, "almost a teenager."

"Would you like me to read you a story?" Amanda asked. She reached out to brush Dallas's bangs away from her face, but the girl ducked her head out of reach.

"I'm not a baby," Dallas snapped as she stood. "I can read."

"Oh, I forgot," Amanda answered with a smile. "You're almost a teenager."

Dallas glared at Amanda for a moment, then she turned to Duncan with a wistful smile.

"Be a good _almost teenager_ and go to bed," he said.

"Why do I have to go to bed, when I'm not tired?" she asked, fidgeting with her hands as she glanced down at the floor.

"Because, I asked you to," Duncan replied.

A heavy sigh lifted her shoulders. "Will you kiss me good night?" she asked.

He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug, then he kissed her cheek. He didn't miss the triumphant look she tossed Amanda, as he released her. He shook his head - perhaps Amanda was right. There was definitely something strange going on.

Dallas crossed the room, slowly, then she glanced over her shoulder just before she stepped through the doorway. The pensive expression on her face stirred up even more questions.

Amanda slipped her hand under his sweater again, and he wished he could send Richie to bed as easily. He seemed quite intent on examining the box of trains, but Duncan would rather he did it somewhere else ... preferably far away. He sighed, as he pulled Amanda closer.

"What makes you think she's jealous?" he asked to distract her from the arousing game she was playing with her hand.

Amanda glanced at Richie, then she tickled a sensitive spot before she pulled her hand away. "Who wouldn't be? After all she's had two very attractive men all to herself, and now she has to share."

He captured Amanda's hand in his before it could return to the scene of the crime. "She's a child," he said, kissing her finger tips one at a time.

"But she's also a woman in training."

Amanda nestled into his side, and he could have purred with contentment. He had no idea what she was talking about, but it didn't matter.

"Ten is an awkward age," she continued her dissertation. "A ten-year old girl sees her childhood fading away, but she doesn't yet know what being a woman means, so she's afraid of it."

"What do you know?" he asked. "It's been well over a thousand years since you were ten."

She pinched him hard, and he laughed at the indignant expression on her face. "I'm a woman ... it's all I need to know, and I'll teach you to make disparaging remarks about a woman's age," she said, as she tickled him with fingers that knew every one of his sensitive places.

Richie raised an eyebrow as he glanced up from his project. "Sheesh ... get a room, already," he said, laughing as he began to put the trains back in the box. "Never mind ... I'll get a room. I know when I'm not wanted." 


	8. A Splash of Color Chapter 8

The concept of the Highlander universe and the character of Duncan MacLeod were created by someone else. They belong to someone else. Actually, they belong to a bunch of people - Gregory Widen, Peter Davis, William Panzer, the folks at Gaumont, and those at Rysher Entertainment, as well. They do not belong to me, and I'm borrowing them without permission. Because Highlander-The Series is my favorite TV show, and because this story has been written out of love with no hope of monetary gain - I hope they'll forgive the transgression.

This story is mine as are characters of Dallas Delany, Sukhe Khan and various minor players - so please don't take them anywhere without letting me know. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I'd love to hear your comments. 

* * *

**A Splash of Color** - Chapter 8

"Amanda and I are going out for a while. We, ah ... have some things to do," Duncan announced during breakfast the next morning.

Holding her spoon halfway between her mouth and her cereal bowl, Dallas looked up at him. He could tell by the crinkle of a frown, that she was considering the implications of his statement. "Can I go with you?" she asked after a few seconds hesitation.

Amanda took a piece of buttered toast from a plate in the center of the table, and nibbled on it as she and Dallas exchanged a cryptic look. "It's just some old boring stuff," Amanda said, wrinkling her nose, then she winked. "Nothing you'd be interested in doing."

Dallas cocked her head and held Amanda's gaze for a moment, then she glanced at Duncan with a smile that whispered satisfaction. "Okay," she said, as she resumed eating her cereal.

Duncan recovered quickly, catching his jaw before it could drop to his chest. What had passed between Amanda and Dallas, he had no idea, but it was obvious they had reached a depth of wordless understanding that amazed him. He swallowed the last of his coffee, then he stood.

"Are you ready?" he asked Amanda.

"Ah ... Mac, these things you have to do," Richie said, exchanging a look of his own with Dallas. "They, ah ... wouldn't by any chance be taking you anywhere near some stores or a mall, would they?"

"Why?" Duncan asked. He had the distinct impression that he was caught in a thicket of intrigue.

"Because, I, er ... have some things I need to get," Richie answered as he stood.

"Can't it wait?" he asked with mounting frustration. "We can't all go off and leave Dallas here by herself."

"It's okay - I can stay with Mrs. Thompson," Dallas volunteered.

Duncan lifted an eyebrow. Why was she suddenly being so cooperative? She couldn't possibly know that Amanda had talked him into taking her Christmas shopping - against his better judgment. Or did she?

Last night, he had seen the distrust and suspicion in Dallas's eyes when she looked at Amanda, yet this morning they seemed to have joined sides against him. Apparently, he would never understand the way women's minds worked - no matter how long he lived. He wondered whether it even helped to try. Even the ten year-old was one step ahead of him.

"Oh, all right," he agreed, reluctantly. "But let's call Mrs. Thompson first, and make sure she doesn't mind."

"Oh, she won't mind," Dallas said. She scooped the last of her cereal into her mouth, and left a dribble of milk on her chin.

Amanda cleared her throat, then tapped her own chin with her finger. Dallas stared at her for a moment, then she grabbed a napkin and swabbed away the milk.

"Well, I think we should call her anyway," Duncan said.

The co-conspirators exchanged another look that pointedly excluded him. "You go get the car," Amanda said. "We'll take care of Mrs. Thompson."

A few hours and several hundred dollars later, Duncan tried to balance the load of shopping bags Amanda handed to him as she took them out of the trunk. Richie stood a few feet away with one shopping bag in his hand and a smirk on his face. "You could help," Duncan said, glaring at Richie as Amanda tried to tuck one last bag under his chin.

"I can't help it if you bought out the store," Richie said, laughing as he took the glossy red shopping bag from Amanda.

"This wasn't my idea," Duncan protested as Amanda adjusted his burdens. "I don't know how I got roped into this deal. And I'm not the one who bought out the whole store ... even if I did pay for it."

"Oh, stop grumbling ... you loved it," Amanda said, then she kissed his cheek. "How often do you get to play Santa Claus?"

"Well, I'm not putting on a beard and a red suit," he said, "so don't even think about it."

Amanda lifted his index finger to remove one tiny shopping bag from the bunch he clutched in his right hand. She smiled as she wrinkled her nose. "That's okay," she said, then she turned away to walk up the hill. "I don't think Dallas believes in Santa Claus, anyway."

Duncan shifted his burdens, then he followed Amanda and Richie. To make matters worse they'd had to park around the corner and a block away. He felt like a pack mule. He probably looked like a pack mule, as well. He grumbled to himself as he caught up with them, then took the lead. He was well ahead as he approached the corner.

A shrill scream pierced the general din of the city street. At the same time, the buzz of another Immortal drilled through him. It stilled his heart and chilled the blood pulsing in his veins. He dropped the shopping bags and ran - right into Dallas.

With her skates flying, she crashed into him, nearly knocking him over. He recovered quickly, then pushed her behind him as he caught the expression of absolute terror on her face. He followed the direction of her look, and saw what had frightened her.

The man who had been chasing her slowed his pace to a walk as he approached. His long dark coat fluttered, then enfolded him like a raven's wings as he stopped a few feet away. Tall for an Asian and completely bald, he crossed his arms over his chest, and eyed Duncan with contempt. A thin rivulet of blood trickled from a long scratch on his cheek and from another over his left eye.

He lifted one dark eyebrow and his long thin mustache twitched as he regarded the scene before him. Footfalls echoed behind Duncan as Richie and Amanda ran up to join him. He held a trembling Dallas under the protection of his arm.

"My, my," the strange Immortal said, casting a malevolent glance over the group. "What have we here? A Gathering, perhaps?" He shook his head and chuckled. "Just let me have the child and the rest of you can go on your way ... unless you want to die, then I'd be most willing to oblige ... one at a time, of course."

"Dallas is under my protection, Khan," Duncan said, then he passed her back to Richie. "If you want her, you'll have to go through me, and after me ... them." He indicated the others with a tilt of his head.

"Well, it seems you have me at a slight disadvantage. You know who I am, but I don't know who you are." The Khan moved closer, then he attempted to pass.

Duncan grabbed his arm. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he said. "Touch her, and you'll be the one to die."

"The Highlander?" the Khan asked. His smile glimmered with a token respect.

Duncan nodded with a slight movement of his head, then both men looked away as a horn blared and tires squealed on asphalt. The drivers of the two cars, that had narrowly missed each other in the intersection, expressed their heated opinions with shouts and curses.

"This is not the right time, nor the right place," Duncan said, stepping back.

"I agree." The Khan stepped back as well. "Choose the time and place of your death, Highlander."

Duncan ran through his memories of the city as he considered an appropriate place for a confrontation of the Immortal kind. "Golden Gate Park at midnight," he said.

"No," Dallas screamed from behind him.

Duncan turned. She struggled in Richie's firm grip. "Don't go, Duncan," she pleaded. "He'll kill you. He killed Jake."

"Don't worry, sweetheart, It will be all right."

"Such confidence - I like that - it will make killing you so much more interesting."

"Don't bet on it," Duncan retorted, then the clatter of skates on the sidewalk and muttered oaths from behind him drew his attention. He glanced over his shoulder to see Dallas succeed in her struggle with Richie.

"Let me go," she said, then her skate thumped into his ankle. He released her as he reached down to rub the injured spot.

Dallas tugged on the zipper of her blue ski jacket as she skated up to Duncan's side. She slipped her hand inside the coat, then drew out the sword she had brandished in the dojo. "Go away and leave my friends alone," she ordered, waving the short sword before her.

Careful to avoid the moving blade, Duncan bent to take it from her. "That's not a good idea, sweetheart," he said.

Dallas held the sword in a such a fast grip, that he had to pry her fingers free. He tucked the sword under his arm, then took her hand. She lifted her chin as she took a step toward the Khan. "I'm not afraid of you," she said, but the tremor of her hand betrayed her.

The Khan laughed softly as he gazed at her with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "The child has spirit," he said. "It will be a shame to kill her, but she must die."

"She's just a child," Duncan said. "She's no threat to you. Leave her be, and we can all live in peace."

"Peace?" the Khan said, lifting one eyebrow in disbelief. "There is no peace for our kind. Surely, you must know that. I can not allow this child to live."

"Why? What has she done to you?"

The Khan's broad shoulders lifted as he inhaled deeply. "It does not matter," he said. "Golden Gate Park ... at midnight." He bowed his head, then he whirled away and strode across the street.

Duncan lifted Dallas into his arms, and waited while Richie and Amanda picked up the scattered shopping bags. The girl sighed as she hugged him, then he turned and carried her all the way back to the house. One skate-clad foot thumped against his knee, but he hardly noticed it as the warm moist brush of her breath on his ear and the gentle pressure of her arms around his neck filled him with emotions he couldn't understand. He vowed to make things right for her, no matter what the cost might be.

The familiar orange tabby rose from her perch on the porch railing as they approached. She arched her back and her tail quivered, then she leaned into a long stretch before leaping down to greet them.

Dallas wriggled in Duncan's arms and he set her down before she could deafen him again. "Murphy!" she shouted, a second after he released her. Watching her skate up to the cat, he smiled. He was learning these lessons quickly.

Dallas scooped the cat up into her arms and hugged her until Murphy meowed in protest. "Murphy, you saved me," she said.

Duncan bent to unfasten her skates as she cuddled the squirming cat, then he shepherded the whole crew into the house. Safely inside the front hall, he crouched down before Dallas.

"What happened, sweetheart?" he asked, as he helped her out of her coat.

Dallas's lower lip quivered as she took a deep breath. Her eyes welled up with tears, but she didn't cry. "He just snuck up on me ... the Khan. I didn't even hear him ... I turned around and he was right there. Mrs. Thompson said it was too nice to stay inside. We went down to St. Anthony's. I can skate in the parking lot 'cause it's flat there ... then we came back and I stayed outside to play with Murphy, but Mrs. Thompson had to go in 'cause her sister called."

She took another deep breath, and Duncan knew she was reliving the whole incident. He took her hand, led her over to the stairs, then he sat down and pulled her into the shelter of his arm. He brushed her bangs back from her face. "Relax, sweetheart," he said soothingly. "No one's going to hurt you now."

Murphy nudged Dallas's leg, and she bent down to pick the cat up. "Murphy saved me," she said, rubbing her face in the cat's fur. It purred loudly in response.

"I was holding her when the Khan snuck up on us. She growled and hissed at him, then she jumped at him and scratched his face. I thought he would hurt her, but she got away. I had my skates on, so I thought I could get to St. Anthony's before he could catch me. Jake said we're always safe in a church."

"Jake was right," Duncan said, quietly. "The church is Holy Ground."

Noticing that there was blood on her hand, he took it gently in his to examine it. Released from the clutch of her embrace, the cat escaped, but stayed to snake around their legs. Duncan wiped the blood away with his thumb, then he kissed it. The cut was a fairly shallow one, that looked suspiciously like a cat scratch. "Murphy got you too," he said.

"That's okay," she said with a shrug. "She didn't mean it."

"Maybe not," he replied, "but we should clean it up so it doesn't get infected."

"I'll do it," Amanda volunteered.

Dallas edged closer to Duncan, and he watched the expressions change on her face while she considered Amanda's outstretched hand. Her shoulders lifted as she took a deep breath, then she reached out to accept Amanda's offer. 


	9. A Splash of Color Chapter 9

The concept of the Highlander universe and the character of Duncan MacLeod were created by someone else. They belong to someone else. Actually, they belong to a bunch of people - Gregory Widen, Peter Davis, William Panzer, the folks at Gaumont, and those at Rysher Entertainment, as well. They do not belong to me, and I'm borrowing them without permission. Because Highlander-The Series is my favorite TV show, and because this story has been written out of love with no hope of monetary gain - I hope they'll forgive the transgression.

This story is mine as are characters of Dallas Delany, Sukhe Khan and various minor players - so please don't take them anywhere without letting me know. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I'd love to hear your comments. 

* * *

**A Splash of Color** - Chapter 9

Duncan's hand trembled slightly as he poured a large measure of Scotch whiskey into a glass. He willed it to stop, but it ignored his command. He hadn't intended to get this attached to Jake's child - he hadn't intended to get attached to her at all - yet here he was.

He had no idea what to do with her now. He couldn't raise a child - especially a little girl - on his own. A week ago, he might have been able to send her off to a school or place her in the care of another Immortal without much pain of separation, but these few days they'd spent together had changed that.

He remembered the gleam of trust in her eyes, as he held her on the stairs. She needed him, and perhaps he needed her as well. Dallas had lost her mother, then Jake. If he sent her away, now, she would see it as rejection, and it could cloud the rest of her life - a life that was already far from normal.

"So what are you going to do?"

Duncan shook his head, as Richie's voice intruded on his reverie. "I'm sorry," he said, stalling as he gathered his wits. Had Richie read his mind? "What did you say?"

"I asked what you were going to do ... about the Khan?"

Molten anger burned deep inside him. It burst into flames that leaped and roared at the mere mention of that name. "I'm going to kill him," he said, in a cold flat tone designed to dampen the fire within. Raging anger could get him killed. Cold fury would serve him best. He took a deep centering breath, and a mouthful of the whiskey, then he set the glass down.

"Are you so sure?" Richie asked. "What if you don't?"

Duncan laughed - a chilling laugh that held no trace of humor. "Are you questioning my abilities?" he asked. As he turned, Richie stepped back.

"Hey, no ... but he killed Jake, remember?" Richie held his hands out on each side - a gesture of appeal. "I just think we ought to consider--" He left the rest of his thoughts unspoken, and turned his head as the sound of footfalls and feminine laughter snagged their attention.

Amanda held Dallas's hand and they strolled through the living room, and both the woman and the child wore broad smiles. Duncan savored the swirl of warmth as he watched them. He wondered when they had become friends instead of rivals, and once again he found himself puzzled at the ways of women. If Dallas's eyes were brown, like Amanda's instead of blue, one could easily have taken them for mother and daughter.

Amanda stopped in the archway between the living room and the dining room, while Dallas approached Duncan. "Don't go," she said, quietly, slipping her hand into his.

Holding her hand, he crouched down. "I have to, sweetheart," he said. "It's the way things are with us. Jake must have told you that."

She didn't meet his gaze, but she nodded slowly, then she leaned in to press a kiss on his cheek. "Please, come back," she whispered.

"I'll do my best," he said, standing. "Now, I've got some things to do. Why don't you see if you can talk Amanda and Richie into taking you to get something to eat."

"Hey, that's a good idea," Richie said. "Wanna go to Mickey D's, Shortstuff?"

Dallas turned to look at Richie. "Okay," she said, then she turned back to Duncan. She gave him a long poignant look that twisted a knife in his heart, then she walked slowly to Richie's side.

In Jake's cellar workshop, Duncan ran a whetstone along the blade of his katana. Setting the stone down, he tested the edge with his thumb. Like a scalpel it drew blood before he even noticed the sting of the cut. As he wiped the blood from the blade, he sensed the presence of another Immortal - more than one Immortal, in fact. It was probably just Richie, Amanda and Dallas, but instinct kept him coiled, ready to strike until he heard the tap of Amanda's heels on the stairs. He didn't turn from his task as she drew near.

She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his back.

"So how was McDonald's?" he asked.

"You don't want to know," Amanda replied, moving her hands slowly over his chest. "Dallas and Richie seemed to enjoy it, though."

He laughed. "There's no accounting for taste."

"Poor dears," Amanda mumbled, then she fell silent.

Her breasts pressed into his back as she took a deep breath. "I wish you didn't have to do this," she said.

He turned to face her, and leaned back against the work bench. "Amanda," he said, softly, taking her hand in his.

She sighed, then she turned away from him. "I know, I know ... it's what we do. He killed Jake, and now he's after Dallas ... and you can't walk away from a challenge ... but it's two days before Christmas. Can't it wait?"

He moved to stand in front of her, and he tipped her head up with the gentle pressure of his fingers under her chin. "No it can't ... and you know that."

She pulled her head away and stepped back. "You know, MacLeod," she said. "Sometimes Immortality sucks."

He reached out and coaxed her back into his arms. "Yeah, sometimes it does," he said. "But we are, what we are." He inhaled deeply, taking in the soft, warm, perfumed scent of her, then he kissed her gently.

She tucked her head into his shoulder. "I don't want to lose you," she mumbled into his shirt.

"That makes two of us," he said. "Don't worry, I can handle this."

She looked up at him, kissed him gently, then she escaped his embrace. "I'm ... ah, going to see if I can persuade Dallas to go to bed."

"Good luck," he said, chuckling softly as he turned back to tend his sword. For some odd reason, he couldn't watch Amanda go - even if she was only going upstairs.

Duncan pulled the collar of his duster closed as he stood on the hill. Though the day had been warm and pleasant, the unusual cold snap had returned with the night. Chill air tangoed with warm air and their union gave birth to a heavy fog that oozed up from the bay. It slithered around the trees and lay in an undulating coverlet of grey on the path before him. It muffled all sounds making them seem faint and far away. He was alone, waiting, senses tasting the night for the presence of the other.

Then suddenly the vibration wrapped around him like the fog swirling around his legs, but unlike the fog it filled him as well. He centered himself, lifted his sword, and crouched into readiness in one fluid instant.

"I thought perhaps, you might not come," a voice punched through the fog. Close and behind him.

He whirled to face it. "I'm here," he said, simply.

"Are you so anxious to die?"

The voice came from the left now, and Duncan moved to follow it, listening for every faint sound. Straining to separate the natural from the unnatural. "Are you?" he asked.

The singing whisper of a steel blade sliced through the thick night air. It came without warning. He barely had time to leap out of its deadly arc. The sword vanished as quickly as it came. Duncan turned in a slow circle. _Where was he, damn it?_

"Are you going to come out and fight? Or are you going to play _hide n seek_, like a coward?"

"A coward? Not I."

Suddenly, the blade was at his throat. He dropped to the ground then rolled to safety.

"Who's the coward now?" the Khan called from the shelter of the fog.

Duncan lunged in the direction of the voice. His blade met nothing but mist. He pressed his back against a tree, and waited, listening. Only the sound of his own breathing, and his adrenaline-charged pulse touched his ears.

"Why, Khan?" he asked. "Why go after the girl?" No response. The fog deadened even the echo. But his enemy was still here, he could feel him. If he could only see him as well ... This tactic was maddening, but surely that was the intent. He couldn't allow it to disturb his cold balance.

"She's just a child. She can't hurt you."

"Are you a superstitious man, Highlander? Do you believe in the portent of dreams?"

The Khan stepped into the clearing, twenty feet away. Duncan approached, walking cautiously. Now that he could see him, he didn't want him vanishing into the mist again. "Let's just say, I maintain a healthy skepticism. Why?"

"Because centuries ago, I had a dream that such a child would be the cause of my untimely death. I consulted a seer who told me that if I eliminate her, my path to the Prize stands clear. I've been searching for her ever since. When I saw her with Jake Pendleton, I knew she was the one ... the child in my dreams. She can not live."

"She's not even Immortal, yet. Walk away and leave her be. I have no quarrel with you. We can all live."

"No," he said, raising his sword as he stepped in to engage Duncan.

The clash of steel on steel rang out sharply despite the deadening effect of the fog, as Duncan parried the initial attack. He stepped back, twirled his katana into a more advantageous angle and launched an attack of his own.

"She has an awesome power. Can you not feel it, MacLeod?" the Khan asked as he met force with force.

"She has the same power every one of us has before we die our first death. No more, no less."

The Khan's relentless attack, left him breathing heavily. He forced the searing pain of several deep slashes to the back of his mind, yet the warmth of his own blood chilled him. 

"Even if she lives to be old enough to defend herself," he continued with his argument as he continued to fight for his life, as well as hers. "She has far too many disadvantages to be any threat to you. Immortals born into this century, don't have the training we had."

"Oh, but she does," the Khan said, whirling away from a deadly thrust.

Duncan struggled to maintain his balance, then circled around a tree to regroup.

"Pendleton was teaching her to be a warrior, as my father taught me ... as your father taught you."

"Jake is dead. He'll teach her no more." Duncan drew strength from the cold fury over his friend's death.

"Ah, but _you_ will," the Khan said as he closed in for another attack. "You will train her, and you will not see the viper in your nest until it is too late."

"Rubbish!" Duncan shouted as he lashed out with his foot. The blow caught his opponent's wrist, and knocked his sword free. Stepping into the swing, he struck swiftly, relieving his opponent of the burden of his head.

As he waited for the violent storm of the Quickening, it occurred to him that the man had seen his future correctly, though not quite accurately. While Dallas had not actually killed him, she had been the cause of his death. If he had walked away - if he'd left her alone, he might have lived to claim the Prize.

The glowing mist of the Khan's life force rose, mingled with the surrounding fog, then merged within him in a blinding flash. The earth trembled under his feet with the power of one of the city's infamous quakes, and white hot lightning crackled around him as it consumed the fog before it struck him.

The searing agony cut through him, throwing him back, then it knocked him to his knees as the vanquished spirit melted into his own. The surging energy of united forces lifted him and carried him into ecstasy, then swept away, leaving him spent, drained.

As he pushed himself up from the ground, the swelling vibration of another Immortal whipped around him. He reached for his sword, and staggered to his feet. Breathing heavily, he glanced around.

"Don't sweat it, Mac," Richie chuckled, as he sauntered into view. "It's just me and, I'm not here for your head." He twirled his sword, before tucking under his jacket. "Not today, anyway."

"What are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay with Dallas."

Richie shrugged. "Amanda's with her, and I thought I'd back you up ... just in case."

He stared at Richie. The young Immortal was grinning, but Duncan wasn't sure how seriously he meant,_ just in case_. The slightly snide, _not today_, didn't sit well either. Would Richie ever forget that he tried to take his head? Over the last few weeks, they had slipped into old familiar patterns, but Richie's tone told him they could never really repair the damage that dark incident had done.

There wasn't much point in discussing it now. Words couldn't heal the rift, but actions might build a bridge. "Come on," he said, clapping Richie on the back. "We've got two women waiting for us."

Richie chuckled, but he didn't slip away from Duncan's hand on his shoulder. "This doesn't work out evenly," he said. "You've got Amanda, but I'll have to wait until Dallas grows up."  



	10. A Splash of Color Chapter 10

The concept of the Highlander universe and the character of Duncan MacLeod were created by someone else. They belong to someone else. Actually, they belong to a bunch of people - Gregory Widen, Peter Davis, William Panzer, the folks at Gaumont, and those at Rysher Entertainment, as well. They do not belong to me, and I'm borrowing them without permission. Because Highlander-The Series is my favorite TV show, and because this story has been written out of love with no hope of monetary gain - I hope they'll forgive the transgression.

This story is mine as are characters of Dallas Delany, Sukhe Khan and various minor players - so please don't take them anywhere without letting me know. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I'd love to hear your comments. 

* * *

**A Splash of Color** - Chapter 10

Shoes off, sock-clad feet propped comfortably on a stool, Duncan drew lazy circles on Amanda's arm with his finger as she snuggled against him on the sofa. She wore an angora sweater, and the sensuous touch of the soft knit provided a simple pleasure. The light pressure of her head resting on his chest wasn't bad either.

The heat from the fire toasted the soles of his feet to a satisfying tingle, and a curious sense of peace drifted down to surround his heart. He'd even allowed Murphy to curl up in his lap, even though his pants were destined to look like Amanda's sweater once the cat decided to leave. Drowsily, he watched Richie snap pieces of track together to form a circle under the tree.

"Where's Dallas?" he asked, oddly disturbed by absence of her cheerful chatter.

Richie shrugged as he set an engine on the tracks. "I think she went upstairs a while ago."

A ripple of concern ran through Duncan. When he had walked through the door after his battle with the Khan, she'd been sitting on the stairs in her pajamas and robe, waiting for his return. He couldn't forget the anxious look that had clouded her eyes. Nor could he forget how the fear melted into tears of relief as she ran to his outstretched arms. 

He glanced around to search for her, wondering if the bright spirit, she'd been in all day, had merely been a cover. He had taken the Khan out of the Game, but no matter what he did, he could never restore the life that had been taken from her. Perhaps the cover had begun to unravel.

"I'll go check on her," he said, then stood, dislodging Murphy who yowled in protest.

Amanda caught his hand and tugged on it. "Leave her be, Duncan. You worry more than an old hen. She's fine. She's really very wise for her age."

"She's still a child, Amanda, and one who's been through a lot of trauma, lately."

"Who's a child?" the subject of the discussion asked as she made a grand entrance. 

Holding a length of red velvet ribbon, Dallas clutched a tail of hair at her nape. She wore a green wool jumper over a white turtle neck shirt decorated with sprigs of holly. White stockings dotted with tiny candy canes, and a pair of black patent-leather shoes completed her festive attire.

She stopped in front of Amanda and handed her the ribbon. "Can you do this?" she asked. "I can't reach."

"Why are you all dressed up, sweetheart?" Duncan asked as he sank back into the cushions of the sofa.

"It's Christmas Eve," she said as though that was enough of an explanation. "Aren't we going to church? We always go to seven o'clock mass at St. Anthony's on Christmas Eve."

Duncan laughed as he pulled her into his lap. "I hadn't planned on it," he said. "Do you really want to go?"

She looked at him as though he had sprouted another head. "All my friends will be in the pageant," she said, with a wistful sigh. "And I was supposed to sing with the choir, but Jake told my teacher we were going away."

"What do you say, Amanda?" he asked. "Are you up for Christmas Eve mass?"

Amanda rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she laughed. "I don't think so ... It's been ages since I've been to church. The roof will probably cave in."

Dallas giggled, and the happy sound filled him with delight. "That's what Jake always said." 

She slid off his lap and went to stand before Amanda. "But my mother always told him that the angels hold up the roof on Christmas to protect all the people who only go to church once a year."

"Well, then," Amanda said with a grin. "If they're going to go to all that trouble, I guess we'd better go. Would you like me to French braid your hair?"

Dallas's eyes widened with glee, and a hint of wonder. "Can you do that? My mother didn't know how."

"I think I can manage," Amanda said, then she turned Dallas gently and began to separate strands of her hair. 

Duncan didn't miss the pleasure-filled smile that lit Amanda's face, as he stood. He glanced at Richie. The young man had his head bent as he set the cars on the tracks behind the engine with intense concentration. Duncan had no doubt he'd heard every word of the conversation.

"Come on Richie," he said. "The train will wait. If we're going to church, so are you."

"Huh? Church? What are you talking about?" Richie looked up at him, but the puzzled expression didn't save him.

Duncan slipped his hand under Richie's arm and lifted in an attempt to pull him to his feet. Richie resisted. 

"Get up," Duncan said, as he continued to apply pressure. "Celebrating Christmas was your idea in the first place."

Richie stood with reluctant slowness. He brushed the dust of the trains from his jeans, then he peered around Duncan. 

Glancing over his shoulder to see what had caught Richie's attention, Duncan saw Amanda tie the red ribbon around the braid she had just made in Dallas's hair. The girl stood perfectly still with her hands clasped before her, and she wore a look of sheer contentment on her face.

"Do we have to get all dressed up?" Richie asked.

Dallas moved to his side and took his hand. "Not if you don't want to," she said.

Richie crouched down, then he tugged on her braid. "You sure about that, Shortstuff?" he asked.

She nodded solemnly. "My mother told Jake, he didn't have to get dressed up. She said going is what counts."

Richie shook his head as he stood, then he smiled. "I sure hope St. Anthony's has a strong crew of angels working tonight. Three Immortals should test the strength of that roof, for sure."

Though Duncan had glanced up to check the rafters several times during the service - just in case - the roof held ... or the angels had done a good job. He wasn't quite sure which was the case. According to all the legends, strange things happen on Christmas Eve. Who was he to argue?

Just ahead, Dallas skipped along at Richie's side. Her bright pink hat bobbed up and down like a ball bouncing over the lyrics on a sing-a-long film. Her laughter and gay chatter drifted back to him in a steady stream and warmed him on this chill night. 

At his side, Amanda clung to his sleeve while she fumbled with her shoe. "I don't know why you wore new shoes when you knew we were going to walk," he said, eyeing the gold pump she struggled to put back on her foot. 

Though most of the shopping expedition was a blur, he vaguely remembered an extended layover in the shoe department - perhaps because it had chairs.

Amanda muttered a few curses, stomped her foot twice, winced, then treated him to an indulgent smile. "Because they _are_ new," she said. Murphy would have purred. Amanda came close.

He wondered, idly, just how much those shoes had set him back, then he laughed and looped his arm around her waist. Nothing could spoil this night. It was just too perfect.

During the four block walk to the church, Dallas had explained that St. Anthony's evening mass was a special Christmas liturgy designed for the children. Part pageant, part traditional service, it proved to be quite different and a lot nosier than any he'd attended - even with 400 years experience. Far removed from the solemn services he remembered, this one had been filled with the tinkle of bells, the rumble of drums, and the blare of trumpets. Tender young voices rose in song against background of delighted chatter, and the occasional hiss of a parent shushing an over-exuberant child.

Inside the church, Dallas had whispered as she pointed out special friends and explained the parts each would play. He watched her with concern, fearing she might realize the depth of her loss. But then she slipped her hand in his and gazed up at him, Her eyes sparkled with pure joy, and he knew he'd made the right decision.

As he pulled Amanda closer, he suddenly realized that vivid splashes of color had returned to brighten the previously bleak landscape of his life. Red poinsettias, lush green wreaths trimmed with red velvet bows, green trees aglow with a full spectrum of twinkling lights, the golden gleam of flickering candles, and Dallas's pink hat danced in his head like the sugar plums in that oft-recited Christmas poem.

Amanda stopped to slip her shoe off again. "Who's idea was it to walk, anyway?" she asked, as she bent to rub her foot. 

"It's only four blocks," he said.

"Four blocks of torture," she grumbled.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her. "Would you like me to carry you," he said, laughing, as he whirled around.

"Put me down, you fool," she said laughing with him. "People are staring at us."

He set her down gently, pulled her close, then pressed a kiss into her hair. "That's never bothered you before," he said. "Let them."

"What's gotten into you, MacLeod? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were drunk."

"I'm just happy. Is that a crime?"

Amanda stopped. She gazed at him with a thoughtful expression that crinkled her brow and drew her lips into a bow, then she smiled. A long slow smile that caught the twinkle in her eyes. "No," she said, turning away. She wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Not at all."

Richie and Dallas scampered across the intersection as the light changed, but Amanda had dawdled so long they missed it. Taking full advantage of the wait, he pulled her into the shadows away from the glare of the street lamp. "Merry Christmas," he said, then he kissed her gently.

"Is that it?" she asked.

"What?"

"Christmas - Is that the reason you're so happy?"

"I don't know," he said. The light changed, and he guided her across the street. "I don't want to pick it apart. I just want to enjoy it."

Amanda walked beside him in silence for a moment, then she stopped. "We could do this, MacLeod," she said.

"Do what?"

She nodded toward Dallas and Richie. "Take care of her. We could be a family, the three of us."

The bubble of happiness began to deflate. "No," he said simply.

"Why not?"

"Because it's not like getting a new hair color or a new pair of shoes. You can dye your hair. You can return the shoes, but Dallas is a person with needs and feelings. You can't take her back if she doesn't fit."

Amanda stepped back, then she spun away from him. Turning back slowly, she set her hands at her hips. "I'm not stupid, Duncan. I know how much responsibility is involved."

He caressed her cheek with a light stroke of his fingers. "I know you're not stupid, I just don't think you've thought it through."

"Maybe you're the one who hasn't thought it through," she said, then she looped her hand through the crook of his arm. They began walking again. "How many chances do you think we'll get to be parents ... to know what it's like to have a child? I'd like to try in at least once. Wouldn't you?"

How many times had he considered that quixotic dream? He thought of Kahani ... his life with Little Deer and her son had been the closest he'd ever come to tasting mortal life. But Dallas was not Kahani, and these were different times. Would he do her more disservice by keeping her close ... or by sending her away? 

"Amanda ... this isn't about what I want or what you want, it's about what's best for Dallas."

"Two people who know what she is ... and who care for her are what's best for Dallas."

He took a deep breath. Where was the hole in her logic? The flaw eluded him, but he knew there was one in there somewhere. "Caring for a child involves commitment ... staying in one place for awhile ... giving up a certain amount of freedom. Are you prepared to do that?" He crossed his arms over his chest. _Let her get out of that one!_

Amanda stopped, then scrunched up her nose and brow in a most adorable fashion as she considered his question. He had her there ... he knew it. Heeding her restless soul, she never stayed in one place for long

"She's how old? Ten?" Amanda asked.

"Yes." he answered, slowly. _Where was she headed with this question? _

"Then we're talking about making a commitment for what ... eight, ten years?"

"Yeah," he said with the sinking feeling that he knew exactly where she was headed.

"That's a blink of an eye considering our lifetimes. I can do eight or ten years ... can you?"

He chuckled as he slipped his arm around her waist. "You make it sound like a jail sentence."

"Duncan, this is the opportunity I've been waiting for. She's a great kid. I could teach her so much ... and with you as her father. Just think about the possibilities."

"I am," he said, laughing, "and that's what worries me. What exactly did you plan to teach her?"

"Everything Rebecca taught me," she said, tilting her head demurely.

"I'll bet," he said, but the idea had definite appeal.

He already knew it would be difficult to surrender Dallas to someone else's care. He could watch over her from afar as he had with Michele and Claudia, but Dallas was different. She knew what she was, and somehow in a few short days, she'd chiseled a spot for herself deep within his heart. Sending her away might do irreparable damage to both of them.

As though summoned by the energy of his thoughts, she appeared suddenly before him.

"When we get home can I pick one present to open?" she asked. "Mommy always let me open one before I went to bed. But Richie said I had to ask you."

"I suppose that would be okay," he said, savoring the warmth of her smile.

"Good," she said. She wedged herself between him and Amanda, then slipped her hand in his. With a shy tilt of her head, she held her other hand out to Amanda. 

Amanda accepted her offer. "Well, MacLeod," she said, "What do you think?"

"I'll think about it," he said,

But as he glanced down at Dallas's bright pink hat, he knew he had already made his decision. He knew Amanda's good intentions would fade quickly under the harsh light of reality, but it didn't matter. He would find a way to care for Dallas by himself, if he had to. The colors had returned to his life, and he wasn't about to send them away. .

The End


End file.
